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RICHARD 




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An Echo From the Hills 



BY 



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Felix Fontaine 

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1906 

B. L. Fostbr Co. 
Nashville 


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RICHARD GORDON 


CHAPTER I. 

On the morning of the 5th of November, 19 — , I 
stepped into my uncle's office and found him engaged 
in looking over a pile of legal-appearing documents, 
which he had taken from a tin box and placed in order 
upon his desk. I was not surprised to find him thus 
occupied, since my visit was the result of appointment ; 
and turning his pleasant face toward me, as I entered, 
he said : 

“Good morning, Dick. Draw up a chair and let's 
review these papers before we go over to the County 
Court Clerk's office for final settlement. Twenty-one 
years of age to-day, eh? and a full-fledged American 
citizen. Well," continued he, semi-soliquizing, “that 
of itself is something to excite a feeling of pride ; and, 
when this fact is coupled with good health and a com- 
petency of mundane effects, you would be fully war- 
ranted in accepting congratulations." 

“True," said I, “but the event has approached so 
gradually I have not as yet realized any radical change 
in my condition." 

“No; and you will not feel the change un- 
til you have assumed the responsibility implied by, 
and involved in, this file of papers. As your 
guardian I have endeavored to keep a strict account of 
all transactions between us by means of an itemized 
statement, setting forth in full all receipts and disburse- 
ments. This, of necessity, has required no inconsid- 
erable amount of pains and labor; and now that I am 
prepared to turn over to you the management of your 


6 


Richard Gordon 


own affairs I am satisfied with the condition of every- 
thing, except the timber and coal land in Warren 
county. In the last letter I received from Mr. Gra- 
ham he said there were some irresponsible new-com- 
ers in that community who were disposed to squat on, 
and cut the timber from, this property. To what ex- 
tent these depredators have operated against you up 
there he did not say, but suggested that as soon as 
you had attained your majority it would be advisable 
for you to make a trip to that county, and, by assert- 
ing your rights, put an end to such encroachments.” 

Realizing, in a general sort of way, that a tilt with 
land-grabbing, timber-snaking mountaineers was by 
no means an enviable task, I remarked to my uncle 
that this feature of the business did not present a very 
rosy outlook. 

“No;” said he, “I am frank to say there are some 
undertakings that I would much prefer to an attempt 
to oust a lot of trespassers from a tract of mountain 
land. However, armed as you will be with this judg- 
ment and conveyance, and with the assistance that Mr. 
Graham will be able to render you, I do not apprehend 
any great amount of trouble in establishing your metes 
and bounds. This accomplished, if the refractor} 
squatters do not vacate otherwise, then the only alter- 
native left you will be to institute a series of ejectment 
suits and force them off by process of law. Such 
matters are not pleasant to contemplate, I know ; yet 
this property is too valuable, on account of its timber 
and mineral resources, to suffer these scamps to rob 
you in that way. They are a class of people who 
make it a rule to appropriate everything in sight, espe- 
cially if the owner is out of sight, and have cunning 
enough to know that if they can bluff you in the game 
it will be that much made, since they have nothing to 
lose, but all to gain, by contention. 

“While we are on that subject my advice is, that you 
drive up to Mr. Graham's home, which is situated 
about one mile west of McMinnville, before the bad 


Richard Gordon 


7 


weather begins, taking with you this sheriff's deed 
and this certified copy of a judgment of the Circuit 
Court of Warren county, and, after giving all adjoin- 
ing property owners due and legal notice, in writing, 
of your intention to procession this land, employ the 
county surveyor to clearly establish your lines, being 
careful to fix permanent markers at all corners. A 
sheriff's deed does not purport to convey other rights 
than those held by the person whose property he has 
sold under execution; or, in other words, it is not a 
deed of general warranty. And as this land was pur- 
chased by your father under the hammer, it would be 
well to exercise prudence in seeking to establish a 
paramount claim. 

“Before you leave I will give you a letter of intro- 
duction to Col. Mayhue, a prominent attorney of Mc- 
Minnville, whom I would suggest that you retain as 
counsel. This step may cost you something; yet it is 
always best and safest to start right; and the best 
lawyer is ever the cheapest lawyer. Col. Mayhue will 
induct you into all of the proceedings in the case, and 
advise you as to the proper course to pursue in perfect- 
ing your title. Once in possession of a perfect title, 
neither squatter, adverse claimant, nor any other agen- 
cy can prevail against you ; provided the taxes have 
been paid and the chain of possession duly maintained. 
As for the former, here are the tax receipts from the 
trustee of Warren county for the past seven years, in- 
clusive, of the present year. There is, therefore, no 
room for question on that score. And as for the chain 
of possession, I have been careful to keep a tenant by 
the name of Akers on the land, paying nominal rent. 
Possession has, consequently, been uninterrupted since 
I took charge of your property." 

At the conclusion of the foregoing conversation we 
spent an hour or more looking over the numerous 
documents which my uncle had preserved for my per- 
sonal inspection. I was gratified to learn that he had 
not only managed my affairs with scrupulous econ- 


8 


Richard Gordon 


omy, but had invested the greater portion of my means 
in the stock of one of our local banks, the market value 
of which had risen fifty per cent, in the preceding 
seven years. After expressing my appreciation of the 
uniform kindness he had shown me, as well as my 
gratitude for the splendid judgment he had exercised 
in the direction of my business matters, we left his 
office and went over to the court house, where he made 
a final settlement with the clerk. So methodical had 
he been in every particular but little time was con- 
sumed by the clerk in balancing his account. 

I left him at the court-yard gate, moved by mingled 
feelings of esteem and regret — esteem for the man 
who had unselfishly planned and worked for my inter- 
est — regret at the thought of bidding him adieu in the 
capacity of guardian. 

Cognizant of one of his weaknesses, I went imme- 
diately to all the sale stables in town, and soon suc- 
ceeded in buying what I then considered, and still 
have reason to think was, the handsomest and best 
carriage horse in Rutherford county. This horse I 
sent up to his office, with my compliments. 

Having thus, in some measure, relieved my sense 
of obligation by a guerdon which I had reason to be- 
lieve would be acceptable, I resolved to act upon my 
uncle’s suggestion with regard to a trip to the moun- 
tains, and at once set about preparation for departure 
on the following morning. I concluded to use my 
own horse — a fine young Hamiltonian of four years — 
and rubber-tire “run-about” as a means of convey- 
ance. I was aided in reaching this determination by 
the knowledge that the regular hack line did not ex- 
tend beyond Woodbury, which was only nineteen 
miles from my home, and, so far as I knew, there was 
no public conveyance for the remaining twenty miles 
of the journey. And besides, I could not form any 
idea as to the length of time I should be away, and 
felt that I would be more independent with my own 
means of locomotion at hand. 


Richard Gordon 


9 


At 9 o’clock a. m. on the next day I found myself 
in readiness to start on the thirty-nine-mile drive. By 
way of luggage I had provided myself with a large 
suitcase, in which were packed several suits of winter 
underwear; shirts, collars, cuffs, a box of cigars, two 
pounds of smoking, and a dozen plugs of chewing to- 
bacco. In addition to these articles I squeezed in a 
private tonsorial outfit, an improved Colt’s revolver, a 
box of cartridges, and a quart bottle of old whiskey. 

I will here add, parenthetically, that the last com- 
modity was suggested not so much by the fear of 
dearth in the community to which I was destined, as 
by doubt as to the quality of the article procurable 
there. And my candor, in other respects, is rendered 
the more marked by a knowledge of the fact that an 
indictment against me -for carrying concealed weapons 
would now be barred by the Statute of Limitations. 

In the bottom, or box, of the buggy I had stowed a 
saddle, bridle and blanket ; a double-barreled shot- 
gun, a repeating rifle, a suit of hunting clothes and a 
thick pair of boots. What with all these, there would 
scarcely have been comfortable room for more than 
one passenger in the vehicle. So I took my departure 
alone. 

The weather, though crisp and frosty, was bright 
and invigorating in the forenoon, the afternoon being 
marked by that peculiar, hazy appearance, commonly 
called Indian Summer. As I drove briskly along I 
amused and entertained myself surveying the green 
fields of fall-sown wheat. I found myself speculating 
as to the amount of cotton this and that farmer might 
expect to get picked per acre, or, how much they might 
hope to realize from their entire crop. 

A drive through the country, and especially middle 
Tennessee country, at this season of the year is in- 
tensely interesting to a person who has the inclination 
to think and the capacity to enjoy the surroundings. 
On the one hand he will see a drove of hogs waddling 
and rolling about under the burden of their own ex- 


IO 


Richard Gordon 


cessive flesh, all unconsciously eating their abundant 
rations, that they may the sooner invite the butcher’s 
knife. On the other hand, a herd of fat, sleek cattle, 
quietly grazing in the meadow, are taking on the fin- 
ishing pounds for an early winter market. Thus rum- 
inating and surmising, the first nineteen miles were 
quickly and pleasantly traversed; and at noon I drove 
into Woodbury, where I took dinner and had my horse 
fed, watered and otherwise groomed for the after- 
noon trip. Here the pleasanter part of the route ter- 
minated, as the macadamized turnpike ended at this 
place; but here also the iniquitous toll-gate fees 
ceased, which, in a great measure, offset the inconve- 
nience of rougher and slower travel. 

I have often felt that Tennessee could never hope 
to take first rank as a State until these private turn- 
pike monopolies — owned and operated as they are for 
the aggrandizement of a single individual, the super- 
intendent — were, by some means, abolished. Ken- 
tucky has established a precedent; Tennessee should 
take the hint. 

While standing in front of the hotel talking to a 
friend, my attention was diverted by a herd of cattle — 
ten or twelve in number — that was being driven into 
town by a man on horseback. Upon closer inspection, 
I saw that the drove was composed of old tough-look- 
ing bulls, together with three or four worn-out, worth- 
less, lump- jawed cows, whose udders were spoiled by 
disease. Not only was this true of the cows, but I 
saw that the heads, necks and even portions of the 
bodies of some of the bulls were covered with wart- 
like knots, ranging in size from that of a pea to the 
dimensions of a full-grown Irish potato. 

Astonished and disgusted, I asked my friend what 
that fellow intended to do with such cattle. 

“Why,” said he, “that is the bull-beef man. That fel- 
low — and, by the bye, he is from your county — makes 
it a business to scour this country for that kind of 
stock, which he gets for a song, and drives them down 


Richard Gordon 


ii 


to the State Eleemosynary Institution and sells them 
there at a fair price for the consumption of the in- 
mates.” 

“Is that possible?” I asked, unable to restrain my 
amazement. 

“It is not only possible, but, without having actually 
witnessed such a transaction, I should say, upon the 
authority of the drover himself, that it is true.” 

“Then why, in the name of humanity, does not 
somebody put a stop to the murderous business?” I 
inquired. 

“Simply, I suppose, because the inmates do not com- 
plain, and for the further reason that what is every 
man's business is no man's business.” 

“Well,” said I,” it is an infernal shame, and I will 
do my best to stop this nefarious traffic, if the effort 
makes the whole seven hills of Rome howl.” 

With this, I turned away and followed the drover in 
the direction of the stable, for further confirmation 
of what I had just heard. Walking rapidly, I over- 
took him and said: 

“Halloo, Moore, where did you get your cattle?” 

“Oh, about an' about — different places.” 

“What are you going to do with them? Feed and 
fatten them?” 

“Naw; take 'em home and drive 'em down to mark- 
et in a day or two.” 

“Where do you find a market for cattle like those?” 

“Oh, don’t ask so many questions. I've got a pri- 
vate market for 'em.” 

“Where? In Nashville?” 

“Naw ; not exactly.” 

“A short distance outside of the city, eh?” 

“Oh, well, if you know, what's the use of makin' a 
fellow tell everything?” 

And with this he spurred his horse and rode on to 
catch up with his beeves. 

I then went into the livery stable to order my horse 
and buggy, and, while waiting, asked the proprietor 


12 


Richard Gordon 


if it was a fact that that fellow made it a business to 
furnish the State of Tennessee with cattle in that con- 
dition. 

“Yes, ; I reckon he does — that’s what he says he 
does with them,” was his answer. 

Paying my bill, I got into the buggy and drove out 
of town. As I passed on I could not help reflecting 
upon the damnable iniquity in slaughtering such a lot 
of old, tough and diseased cattle to make a feast for 
the helpless and inane. Great God ! Has the world 
come to this? 

We are quite prone to prate about rottenness in 
Denmark and other foreign countries, when, if we 
would but uncork our nostrils, we could detect a stench 
right under our own noses that might turn the stom- 
ach of a hyena. 

My thoughts engrossed with this and kindred sub- 
jects, I was more or less unmindful of the flight of 
time, and before I realized it, about seventeen addi- 
tional miles lay behind me. Consulting my watch, I 
found that it was nearly 4 o’clock, and just ahead of 
me stood a frame store-house, and a blacksmith’s shop, 
built of logs. As much out of curiosity as anything 
else, I drove up to the platform of the store and in- 
quired of a man sitting on a goods-box the distance 
from that place to the home of Mr. Graham. 

“A leetle better’n three mile,” he replied. 

“Is the road very rough and hilly ?” I pursued. 

“Ruther hilly, but not so powerful rough, bein’ as 
we hain’t had much rain lately.” 

As I sat there in my buggy, plying this man with 
questions, I glanced into the house, through the open 
door, and saw, standing near the counter and looking 
intently at me, the most superbly beautiful specimen 
of girl- or young womanhood that it had ever been 
my fortune to behold. Attired, as she was, in a sim- 
ple, dark blue calico dress, a cape of some grayish- 
brown material, and a ruffled gingham sun-bonnet, 


Richard Gordon 


13 

pushed back from her face, I was able to get a good 
impression of her form and features. 

I use the word impression advisedly, for the picture 
that was photographed upon my mind on that Novem- 
ber afternoon is a fixed realization today. 

There was some inexplicable force, influence, agency 
— call it what you choose, but subtle and irresistible — 
that seemed to hold me riveted to my buggy seat. 
Candidly, I do not believe I could have moved if my 
life had depended upon the effort. At all events, I 
did not over-exert myself in an attempt to move, un- 
til she had lowered her eyes, passed out upon the plat- 
form, and down the road in the same direction as that 
in which my own course would lead me. I then saw 
that she was accompanied by a boy of about ten or 
eleven years, who carried a split basket on his arm. 
The spell of her eyes and presence being thus broken, 
I turned to the man whom I had been interrogating 
and inquired of him the name of the lady who had 
just left the store. 

“That is Edith McLean, what ever'body here’bouts 
calls the Miller Girl of Rock Fork." 

“You don't mean to tell me that she operates a 
mill?" I remarked, skeptically. 

“I sartainly mean to tell you'ns that she runs her 
grandpap's mill over thar on the crick," he replied, 
with notable emphasis. 

Thanking him for the information, I gathered up 
the lines and drove on. In a short while I had over- 
taken the two, as they were walking, and made a fur- 
ther effort to get a view of the girl's fascinating face. 
But this time I failed, since she seemed, purposely, to 
avoid my look of admiration. As I passed on I es- 
sayed to analyze her unique personal charm, and to 
account for its strange, forceful effect upon myself. 

I remembered that her hair was luxuriant, wavy and 
deeply black ; her skin, white, with that rich, creamy 
shade, peculiar to polished ivory. Her eyes, whether 
black or blue, I could not fully determine, as they 


14 


Richard Gordon 


were shaded by long, dark lashes that seemed jealous 
of revealing their exact color. A thin, delicately 
sculpured nose kept guard over a pair of full, red lips, 
and formed a fitting frontispiece to a profile of pro- 
nounced Castilian type. 

Lost in thoughts of this kind, I was descending a 
rather steep declivity, and just in the act of entering 
a small stream, which crossed and ran at right angles 
with the road, when, in the twinkling of an eye, I was 
startled by that sound which no combination of let- 
ters in the English alphabet will exactly convey, yet 
with which most men are familiar and can easily imi- 
tate — the zv-o-o-f ! w-o-o-f ! of a lot of scared hogs, as 
they skedaddled off through the under-brush. Fright- 
ened by this unexpected noise, my horse shied wildly, 
and, jumping into a gully, overturned my buggy, 
throwing me against a rough bank, my head striking a 
sharp stone. The impact was so violent I was ren- 
dered unconscious. 


Richard Gordon 


15 


CHAPTER II. 

I was completely stunned and nerveless. Just how 
long I lay, or might have lain there in that condition, I 
could not have known, except for subsequent develop- 
ments. The first distinct impression I remember, or 
felt, at the time was that of being turned over on my 
right side. A hand was gently placed upon my fore- 
head, and the hair brushed back from my face. At 
this touch I experienced a tingling sensation through 
my entire body, followed by intense pain in my head 
and left shoulder. I then heard the subdued voice of 
a child, asking: 

“Is he dead, Edith?” 

“No; I think not — but go and get some water from 
the branch. Dip it up in your cap. Hurry.” 

During the few moments that the child was gone I 
felt that same electrical hand slip under my vest and 
rest over my heart, and I verily believe that if I had 
been dead its touch would have achieved a resurrection. 
There could be no mistake as to the fact that my heart 
was beating. 

“Now hold your cap close — there,” said the girl; 
and dipping her handkerchief into the water, she be- 
gan to bathe, first, my face and neck, then the wound 
on the side of my head. 

“He's bled awful, hain't he, Edith?” This again 
from the boy, and I could almost hear him shudder as 
he looked on while the girl softly mopped the gash on 
my head in the endeavor to stanch the flow of blood. 

“Run and bring more water,” she commanded; and 
off he went at a trot. 

I began to move and groan in sheer agony, and with 
the hope of assuaging the pain. 


i6 


Richard Gordon 


“Be still, if you can,” she said. Then gently lifting 
my head, she placed something soft under it. This ar- 
ticle, as I afterward saw, was the cape which she had 
worn. With my head somewhat elevated I soon felt 
more comfortable; but up to this time I had not at- 
tempted to open my eyes. Indeed, I could not well 
have done so, as they seemed to be filled with a mix- 
ture of blood, dirt and water. But when the boy re- 
turned with the second supply of water, she laid the 
saturated cloth on my head and began to remove the 
obstruction from my eyes with her hands. 

The cooling liquid, freely applied, soon had the ef- 
fect of reviving me, and I looked up into the girl’s 
face, intending to thank her in some measure for her 
kindness. But she placed her hand over my mouth, 
saying : 

“Don’t try to talk yet; exertion might start your 
head to bleeding afresh.” 

I somehow felt that I was in the hands of a nurse 
who understood her business thoroughly, and I lay 
there several minutes longer, without essaying either 
to move or to speak. Meanwhile she continued to bathe 
my face ; then taking off the handkerchief, she held the 
lips of the wound together with the thumb and fore- 
finger of one hand and allowed the water to drip upon 
the place from the cap, which she held in the other. 

Although the pain in my head was still very great, 
that in my shoulder was even greater, and I made an 
effort to move my arm in order to ascertain if it was 
broken. I succeeded in raising it slightly, but the ex- 
ertion made me wince and groan. 

“Your arm, too, is injured,” said my nurse. “Let 
me see if it is fractured.” 

And she took hold of my wrist, moving the member 
slowly up and down ; then stretched it out from the 
shoulder. Apparently satisfied, she laid it back on my 
side, and turning to the boy, said : 

“Now, Zeb, run up the hill to where the horse and 
buggy are, examine the harness well, and if there is 


Richard Gordon 17 

nothing greatly damaged, lead the horse back, and we 
will try to get the gentleman to the house." 

“Did my horse stop, without tearing my buggy into 
pieces ?" I ventured to ask. 

“Yes, strange to say, when the buggy was over- 
turned and you fell out, the forewheel struck that large 
boulder over there and the vehicle was thrown back 
into an upright position. Your horse then ran up the 
hill until the wheel was caught against a tree, stopping 
him; and he has been standing there quietly ever 
since. That is a remarkable horse. I expected to see 
him kick the buggy into splinters. Some of your bag- 
gage was thrown out,” she continued, “but Zeb and I 
will put it all back, get you to the house and give you 
a more comfortable resting place." 

“I can never hope to fully thank you for what you 
have done for me,” I faltered, my voice broken with a 
sob. 

“Don't try," she said, simply. “Here comes Zeb, 
leading your horse, and I hope we shall find the buggy 
in such a condition as to make it safe for you to ride 
to the house." 

With this she left me, and I saw, ev£n from my po- 
sition, that she was gathering up my scattered effects. 
When Zeb had brought the horse and buggy down he 
turned them around and stopped near me, with the 
horse's head in the right direction. As the horse ap- 
peared to have entirely recovered from fright, he left 
him standing in the road and went to help Edith put 
my outfit into the vehicle. 

“Wait a moment, Zeb," said the girl ; “come and let's 
put the gentleman in first; we can put his baggage in 
afterwards." 

The two then came up to me. Edith placed her hand 
under my head, while Zeb lifted from holds caught 
under my right arm, and their combined efforts soon 
brought me to a sitting posture. Allowing me a few 
moments' rest and to become accustomed to the change 
in position, they then assisted me in getting on my 


18 Richard Gordon 

feet. But the loss of blood, together with the shock, 
had greatly reduced my strength. My head began to 
swim. I grew faint and sick, and would have fallen 
had not Edith caught me. 

“Zeb,” said she, “get on the other side and take hold 
of his coat. Now, sir, put your hand on my shoulder. 
Take one step, and rest. That’s good. Try again, 
you will soon be there. Just two more steps.” I took 
them. 

“That’s all right,” she said, encouragingly. “Now 
rest you hand on the buggy seat — and do you support 
him, Zeb.” 

Thereupon she slipped away and went around to 
the other side of the buggy. Springing in, she put one 
hand under my arm, and, with the other, took hold of 
my coat; then bracing herself with her knees, she 
seemed to lift me, heavy as I was, almost bodily into 
the vehicle. Zeb pushed and I pulled, but it was that 
girl’s super-feminine strength that got me into the 
buggy. When she had placed me on the seat she re- 
garded me for a moment with smiling eyes, flushed 
face, and then exlaimed : “There, now !” 

A long, full, breath was all the effort had cost her. 
Her bonnet had fallen back, hanging by the strings at 
her throat; and as she stood at the side of the buggy, 
watching the effect of the struggle upon me, I said in 
my heart that she was the most divinely beautiful crea- 
ture I had ever seen. 

“Let’s put in these things, Zeb. Get his hat, saddle, 
and bridle, but the suit-case you must carry on your 
shoulder; there isn’t room for that.” 

With this she walked up to my horse’s head, patted 
him on the neck, rubbed his muzzle, and spoke to him 
in her strangely sweet voice. She then came back, got 
into the buggy beside me, took the lines and clucked 
to the horse, which, without manifesting the least sign 
of restiveness, moved off at a slow, steady walk. Sick 
and pained as I was I could not refrain from asking: 
“Are you not afraid my horse will run away with us 


Richard Gordon 


19 


after the scare he has just had?” 

“No,” she replied, “I am not afraid of horses ; I love 
them, and they never try to hurt me.” 

I had occasion afterward to learn what this statement 
implied. 

As we drove up the hill I observed that she man- 
aged and directed the horse with as much dexterity as 
a trained horsewoman. Not once did she permit the 
wheels to strike a stone, or drop into a rut, that would 
have given me an unnecessary jolt. Once or twice she 
looked back to see if the boy was coming on with his 
load, and finding that he was keeping well up with the 
buggy, she directed her attention to the condition of 
the vehicle itself. 

“One broken spoke is, I believe, about all the damage 
your buggy has sustained,” she remarked, after a close 
examination. “I am sorry you could not have fared as 
well.” 

“I thank you most sincerely, yet I am almost tempted 
to say I do not regret the accident, since it has been the 
means of bringing me the pleasure of your acquaint- 
ance,” I replied, trying to be cheerful and gallant. 

“Oh, don't flatter me, I simply did for you what I 
should have done for any one in like unfortunate con- 
dition.” 

Reluctant as I was to receive this unwelcome as- 
surance, I was nevertheless forced to believe that she 
had told the plain truth. My vanity had suffered by 
her retort; yet my sense of gratitude was too keenly 
alive to the measureless burden of obligation under 
which she had placed me ever to permit her to detect 
the first sign of irritability. In a few minutes there- 
after we had stopped at the front gate of a yard in 
which stood a large, two-story house, built of hewn 
logs. 

“This is my home,” she said. 

At this juncture a pack of hounds — six or seven in 
number — came bounding towards the gate, with tails 
and bristles erect, yelping and barking at the appear- 


20 


Richard Gordon 


ance of a strange vehicle. Some leaped over the fence 
in their eagerness to get at the supposed intruders. 
But I noticed that there was one peculiarly marked, 
spotted bitch that remained behind, and, with head up 
and tail wagging, gave signs of recognizing friends. 
As the others rushed up to the buggy Edith quietly 
held up her hand, and, pointing in the direction of the 
house, exclaimed : “Back ! Back ! Begone !" Instantly 
every dog tucked his tail between his legs, and, bound- 
ing back over the fence, went skulking to the kennel. 

“I trust you will not accept this noisy demonstration 
on the part of our dogs as an earnest of the character 
of welcome that awaits you from their owners/' she 
said, with a gentle smile. 

“No, I shall not, of course. Yet I was struck with 
the fact that there was one that did not join the others 
in their protest," I remarked. 

“Oh, yes; that was Calico, my pet. She has sense." 

The barking of the dogs brought to the front porch, 
first, a middle-aged woman and a girl of about eight or 
nine years ; then there appeared upon the scene one of 
the most unique looking individuals I had ever beheld 
— a man who, judging from all indications, might have 
been anywhere from one hundred to two hundred and 
fifty years of age. He was, as I could discern, even in 
the growing duskiness, tall and slender, with broad but 
stooped shoulders, and his head resembled nothing 
more nearly than a miniature round bale of cotton, 
from which the bagging had been suddenly removed, 
permitting the fleecy staple to flare out in snowy white- 
ness. 

“There is Grandpa. He doesn't know what to think 
of all this ado," said Edith. Then beckoning to those 
on the porch she cried, “Come here." 

Reaching for his hat and walking-staff the old man 
came striding out to the gate, followed by the girl, the 
woman remaining behind on the step. As he ap- 
proached, Edith leaped out of the buggy, and, going 
up to him, put her arms about his neck, saying : 


Richard Gordon 


21 


“Grandpa, here is a gentleman who met with a pain- 
ful accident at the foot of the hill, and Zeb and I have 
brought him home in order that he may have proper 
attention/’ 

“Sorry to hear of the mishap to you’ns, sir. What 
mought be the name ?” 

“Gordon, Richard Gordon, sir,” I answered. 

“Gordon — Gordon,” he repeated, and I thought I 
could detect a shadow, as of some painful memory 
passing over his aged features. 

“Ah, well, come in, sir, and we’ns will do the best 
we’ns can for you’ns.” 

“But he is hurt, Grandpa, and we’ll have to help him. 
He was thrown from his buggy, his head severely cut 
on a stone, his shoulder bruised, and possibly received 
other injuries that I did not have time to examine. 
Come, Nan, hold the horse while Grandpa, Zeb, and I 
get Mr. Gordon out of the buggy. Slip over to this 
side, sir, put your arm on my shoulder, and when he 
gets his foot on the step do you, Grandpa, and you, 
Zeb, support him. But don’t take hold of his left arm.” 
Edith gave these directions rapidly. 

“If he’s hurt so bad as chat mebbe we’ns will need 
more help. Whar’s you’ns pappy, Nan?” 

“He’s down to the barn feedin’,” Nan replied. 

“Never mind, we’ll get him to the house,” said 
Edith. 

Following her advice I put my hand on her shoulder, 
exerted myself as much as possible, and, with our com- 
bined efforts, was soon standing on the ground. But, 
as before, the exertion caused me intense pain, and the 
same feeling of dizziness and nausea seized me. I 
must have grown very pale, for Edith said : “He needs 
a stimulant.” 

However, after standing with my eyes closed for a 
few minutes these sensations passed off somewhat, and 
at the end of several attempts, taking a few steps at a 
time, I reached the porch, when the woman above men- 
tioned offered a helping hand, and I was soon stretched 


22 


Richard Gordon 


on a couch, or lounge, in one of the front rooms. I 
then asked Zeb to bring in my suit-case. 

“Don’t be uneasy about your horse and buggy,” 
said Edith : “we will take care of everything.” 

“I am sure you will,” said I, “but the suit-case con- 
tains something that I will need at once.” 

A light was now brought into the room, and I said 
to the old man : “If you will have some one unstrap 
my baggage you will find a bottle of whiskey wrapped 
in blue paper.” 

Just in time to hear my request, Edith came into the 
room with both arms full of my traps. “No, no ; 
Grandpa has some fine old peach brandy; I’ll bring 
you some of that.” 

“Yes, child, go and fetch my flask. Thar’s nothin’ 
better than peach brandy and a leetle honey when a 
person is ailin.’ ” 

In a few minutes she came back with a quart flask 
in one hand and a tumbler nearly full of brandy and 
honey in the other. 

“Now, drink this, and you will feel stronger,” she 
said. 

I did not require urging; so, supporting myself on 
the good arm while Edith held the glass to my mouth, I 
took a long, hearty “pull.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you had whis- 
key in your valise ?” she asked, with a look of reproach. 
“It would have done you so much good down there.” 

“Really I was in so much pain I forgot it,” I said. 

“That is true. Grandpa, we, Zeb and I, found him, 
as we came from the store, lying by the roadside in an 
unconscious condition, and bleeding profusely from a 
wound on his head. We did all we could to revive 
him and stanch the flow of blood, but we had only cold 
water and a handkerchief with which to work. Come 
and look at this place. I think it should have a few 
stitches in it.” And holding the lamp above my head, 
she parted the matted hair. 


Richard Gordon 


23 


■‘Well,” said the old man, as he leaned over my 
couch, “yes, child, yes, that is a pretty angry lookin' 
gash, to be shore.” 

“Is there a surgeon in this neighborhood?” I in- 
quired. 

“None nigher than two mile,” replied my aged host. 
“But if you'ns hain't got no bones broke, I don't think 
you'ns will need one. Edith and me air right good 
cobblers when hit comes to patchin' up hurts and sich 
like.” 

His deep voice sounded like the bass tones of an 
organ. 

“Fetch the scissors, a needle, and some white silk 
thread,” contined he in measured accents. “Set the 
lamp on the table nigh the bed, so the light will fall 
right, thar — that's hit. Now, child, clip the ha'r away 
from the sides of the gash ; then let me take a good look 
at hit. Fetch that steel probe out of the segyar box on 
the mantel-board — that's hit. Now let me see if his 
skull is busted. Hold the place open as wide as you'ns 
can, child. Thar now, that'll do.” 

Thereupon he thrust the point of the probe into the 
lesion, and I could feel it moving about on the bone. 
Did it hurt? Certainly it did; but I locked my jaws, 
and bore it. Presently he withdrew the instrument, 
and, to my great relief, said : “No fracter thar. Now, 
stitch hit up, child.” 

“I should leave the lower end open, so that it may 
suppurate freely, shouldn't I ?” Edith asked. 

“I don’t know what you'ns mean by suppurate, but 
if hit's runnin' matter and corruption, yes. You'ns 
don't want to stop the place up, if you'ns did hit would 
be wuss than a fracter before long.” 

“I understand. But take a little more of this before 
I begin,” she said to me, as she held the tumbler to my 
lips. I drank, but not so copiously as at first. 

Having procured a damp cloth and laved the place 
thoroughly, she then pressed the lips as close together 
as possible and commenced to stitch up the wound. As 


24 


Richard Gordon 


she proceeded I could detect her glancing at my face 
to see what effect the operation was having upon her 
patient. Her tenderness and nerve were wonderful, 
and inspired me with a degree of patience and endur- 
ance that I might not, otherwise, have been able to 
simulate. The ordeal ended, she fastened the end of 
the thread, cut it, and, placing her hand on my hot 
forehead, exclaimed: “There now, that trial is over.” 

“Yes, we’ns will let you’ns off for awhile, and when 
Rube comes in .we’ns will have a snack of supper, 
and then see what else is out of repa’r,” said the old 
man, as he moved towards the door. 

Edith leaned over me and softly asked: “Which 
would you prefer for supper, tea or coffee? I di- 
rected Aunt Mollie to prepare a bowl of chicken broth, 
with toast ; I am sure you must be hungry and ex- 
hausted.” 

“I beg that you will not make more trouble on my 
account,” I pleaded ; “you have already overwhelmed 
me with a debt of kindness which I am fearful I shall 
never be able to repay. However, I am quite thirsty 
and would thank you for a drink of water.” 

“Do pardon my thoughtlessness. I might have 
known you would want water after the loss of so much 
blood.” 

Out of the room she flitted, like some spirit, and, 
in a few moments, returned with the coveted and 
grateful draught. I thought of Whittier’s lines, as I 
eagerly drained the glass. 

“You did not tell me whether you would take tea 
or coffee,” she insisted. 

“Really, I do not care for either, since you have 
been good enough to have a bowl of broth prepared.” 

She then left the room, and I was alone. Notwith- 
standing my physical pain, despite my mental tumult, 
I could in some manner think, and thinking, I won- 
dered how on earth it was possible that this plain log 
house, the walls of which were ornamented with ar- 
chaic weapons, mounted antlers and superannuated al- 


Richard Gordon 


25 


manacs, could contain a being with the heart of an 
angel and the grace of a queen. I was puzzled, mys- 
tified. 

Then, too, there was that most remarkable old patri- 
arch, her grandfather, the record of whose birth might 
have been lost in the onrush of time; stooping, but 
clinging to life with as much vigor and with as firm a 
grasp as if he had a hundred years yet to live. 

In the midst of these reflections I remembered that 
I had neglected to ask the name of my aged host, and 
the chain of my thoughts was broken by the reap- 
pearance of Edith, bearing upon a waiter a tempting 
bowl of broth, the half of a broiled chicken, toast, and 
a glass of water. 

“Edith, I have already been inquisitive enough to 
learn your name, but will you please tell me that of the 
man of whose hospitality I am forced to partake.?” 

“His name is Reuben Ralston, commonly called 
Uncle Reuben, by reason of his great age. He is my 
grandfather, and please be assured that he is a man 
who will never begrudge aught that may be bestowed 
upon a wounded and helpless stranger. Now, stop 
talking, and eat.” 

With this peremptory command she propped me up 
with pillows, and set the salver on my lap. 

“Take the spoon in your right hand and help your- 
self, while I cut up the chicken and break the toast 
into your broth.” And I did just as she said. 

“Do you know that you are the most irrseistibly 
charming person I have ever seen ?” I involuntarily 
blurted. 

Laying down the knife and fork, she placed her 
hand over my mouth, and, looking intently into my 
eyes, said : “I thought I told you not to talk, have you 
forgotten it?” 

As she sat at my bedside she watched, seeming to 
count, every spoonful I took, and when I had eaten 
most of the broth, insisted that I should also eat some 
of the chicken ; and to gratify her I did. 


26 


Richard Gordon 


“Have you had enough ?” she asked. 

"The greatest plenty. I never enjoyed anything 
more. Now, please go and have your own supper,” I 
insisted. 

"I will. But shall I lay you down again?” 

"I am quite comfortable as I am, thank you. Go, 
please, and let me hope you will enjoy a hearty repast. 
You have earned it.” 

Thereupon she removed the waiter and left the room. 
In a short while thereafter the old man came in, and 
this time he was accompanied by another man and 
Zeb. 

"This is my son and namesake, Rube,” said he, 
"and we’ns have come to take off you’ns garments 
and see whar else you’ns air hurt.” 

I greeted Mr. Rube politely, adding that after the 
delightful meal I had just enjoyed I felt that I could 
face a hangman without flinching. 

"Well, we’ns ain’t goin’ to hang you’ns now,” re- 
plied the old man, with a twinkle in his deep gray eyes, 
"but we’ns don’t know what some other man may 
have to do for you’ns hereafter.” 

This unexpected sally evoked a laught at my ex- 
pense, and I am sure none enjoyed it more than I 
did; for there is no better stimulant than a little fun 
to brace up a fellow’s spirits. The two men then went 
to work on me, and in a short time had hauled off my 
coat and vest. 

"There’s a good deal of blood on the collar,” said 
Rube. "We’ll take off that and the crayat. The shirt, 
though, is tolerable clean, and I’m afeard we’ll hurt 
him if we try to get that off.” 

"Yes,” said I, "just leave it on. Get the scissors 
and rip it open from the collar band down to a point 
below my shoulder; then split the undershirt in the 
same way.” 

"That’s much the easiest and best plan,” said Uncle 
Reuben, "but we’ns didn’t want to spile you’ns shirts.” 


Richard Gordon 27 

“Don’t mind the shirts. Take the course that will 
give the least trouble and pain,” I insisted. 

With this Rube ripped both shirts as I had directed, 
the action revealing a bluish-black and much swollen 
shoulder. The old man then took hold of my arm, 
moving it into different positions, until he seemed sat- 
isfied. 

“Hit’s nuther broke nor out of jint, but pretty badly 
bruised. Zeb, run and fetch me a pan of hot water 
and a rag. And Rube, you’ns git me that bottle of 
Mustang Liniment up thar on the shelf. That’s a 
powerful good thing to take out swellin’, and hit aint 
bad for rheumatics, neither.” 

“But, Pap, that’s mighty strong stuff for a man,” 
objected Rube. 

“We’ns will first rub his shoulder good with suet 
or tallow, and then hit won’t sting so bad,” said the 
old man, reassuringly. 

He then bathed my shoulder with water as hot as I 
could bear it, rubbed it dry, and, after using tallow, 
applied a goodly portion of the famous horse liniment. 
The precaution he had taken in first anointing with 
tallow was certainly a wise and humane one, for the 
salve seemed determined to burn my flesh away, even 
as it was. 

This operation ended, they proceeded to examine 
my hip, which, I told them, felt as if it, too, was in- 
jured. Upon looking into the matter, they found that 
my surmises were correct; it was hurt, but not so 
severely as my shoulder. The same treatment was 
applied, and, after taking off my trousers, shoes, and 
socks, Rube arranged the bed in such a way as to en- 
able me to rest comfortably, and then suggested that 
I should try to go to sleep. He said he would sleep 
in the room with me, occupying another bed, and, 
after turning down the light, the three left me, wish- 
ing me as quiet a night’s rest as possible. 

I lay there perhaps three-quarters of an hour, half 
dreaming, half waking, with my eyes closed and my 


28 


Richard Gordon 


face turned toward the wall, when I heard the door 
open gently, and some one — I could guess who — softly 
approached my bed. She leaned over the couch, and 
began, ever so easily, to draw the counterpane upon 
my shoulder. This movement, slight as it was, roused 
me with a start. I looked up and took hold of Edith's 
hand. 

“Edith, you have been my good angel to-day; I 
trust the time will come when I shall be able to con- 
vince you of my gratitude." 

“Don't worry about gratitude, but try to sleep and 
get well. I hope you will feel much better in the 
morning. Good-night." 

Then giving my hand a pressure that sent the blood 
surging through my entire body, she turned abruptly, 
and was gone. 

I lay there trying to compose myself, shut my eyes, 
counted hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands, until 
exhausted Nature claimed her own, and I fell asleep — 
to dream the night long of Edith McLean. 


Richard Gordon 


29 


CHAPTER III. 

Despite my dreams, I must have slept like the dead, 
for I did not know when Rube got up the next morn- 
ing and kindled the fire. It was after daybreak when 
I awoke, as I could see the rosy sky in the east through 
the window. I tried to turn myself over, but the pain 
of moving admonished me to desist, and brought 
back to my memory a full realization of my condition. 
I felt that there was danger of my becoming a burden 
to these good people who had so kindly taken me in. 
I knew it would be impossible for a man of Uncle Reu- 
ben’s age to wait upon me ; Rube, the son, I was sure 
must have his farming interests to look after, and the 
boy, Zeb, was too young to be of much assistance. 

And Edith? Nothing could have given me more 
pleasure than to have had her constantly at my bed- 
side, ministering to my wants. Yet I knew that, while 
there were some things — many things, indeed, that a 
woman may do, and none but a woman can properly 
do, as a nurse — still, there are other duties devolving 
upon attendance on a sick or disabled man that no 
woman of spirit or self-esteem should be required to 
perform. 

I resolved, therefore, to get Rube to hire a good 
man or well-grown boy in the neighborhood to nurse 
me through my convalescence. This was the only 
practical and reasonable solution of my case, since it 
might be days before I could get up and do things for 
myself. 

As I lay there thinking over these matters I heard 
the sound of a gunshot not a great distance from the 
house, and, looking through the window, I saw that 
the sun had just risen. My conclusion was that some 


30 


Richard Gordon 


fellow was out after a mess of venturesome squirrels, 
and I sighed as I thought how much I would give to 
have been able to bear him company. Guns and ammu- 
nition had I in plenty, but in ability to use them I was 
totally lacking. This feeling makes a fellow restless, 
so I resolved to be as patient as possible. 

Rube, at this time, came in bringing a basin and a 
towel, and after bathing my face and hands I felt 
much fresher. I then told him of my purpose to hire 
a man to wait on me until my hurts should be healed 
or better. He demurred at first, professing entire 
willingness to attend me himself. But I was insistent, 
and told him that I knew that he and all available 
hands must be busy gathering corn, and doing many 
other things in anticipation of winter. Seeing that I 
was determined, he yielded to my wishes, and con- 
sented to secure the services of a young man by the 
name of Abner Merritt, whom he would go and en- 
gage at once. 

This promise relieved me considerably, for my horse, 
I knew, would require attention as well as myself. I 
was not fearful that he would be neglected, for I was 
fully persuaded that these people were too generous 
to neglect anything; but at this season of the year a 
farmer's time is fully occupied with his own affairs, 
and I did not want to impose a greater burden on the 
family than was absolutely necessary. 

The door was opened and in stepped Edith, a veri- 
table female Ganymede, bringing a tribute of steam- 
ing viands to a broken-headed, hip-shod, limp-shoul- 
dered mortal, instead of serving a feast to the gods, 
upon whom she would have been worthy to wait. 

I was now in a better condition, both of mind and 
body, to appreciate her matchless beauty than I had 
been on the previous evening. She was gowned in 
pure white pique , and this, contrasting strongly with 
her wavy, raven-black hair, produced a most striking 
effect. As she advanced into the mellow sunlight, 
which was streaming through the open window, I 


Richard Gordon 


3i 


could look into those deep, dark blue eyes that had so 
strangely baffled my scrutiny before. A simple band 
of blue ribbon, knotted at her throat, gave her the as- 
pect, the mein, of a moving statue. 

Her mouth was beautifully limned, her teeth, white 
and regular; but her eyes, so darkly blue, were the 
most bewitching points of her features. She was tall, 
straight, and, to my mind, perfectly formed. Her 
arms, so much of them as I could see, were full-round- 
ed yet muscular, and compelled me to think of ivor- 
ied wealth from Egyptian lathe. Her hands indicated 
good blood, and her fingers, though plump, yet tapered 
to the requirements of a model. 

“Good morning, Mr. Gordon. I am glad to find you 
looking better. I hope you rested well. You see Eve 
brought your breakfast. I did not ask you this time 
what you would like, but brought what I thought you 
would enjoy.” 

And again she placed the waiter on my lap, seating 
herself on a chair by the bedside. 

“My very best friend, a mother, sister, or” — I was 
about to say, wife — “could not have done more for me 
than you have done. I was never in such bondage be- 
fore. How can I ever hope to thank you?” 

“Now, don't begin that. Just behold what I have 
brought you. It was my own taste: A cup of coffee, 
eggs, biscuit, butter, toast, buckwheat cakes, maple 
syrup, and — what do you suppose that is?” she asked, 
pointing at a fowl, beautifully browned and glistening 
in butter-seasoned gravy. 

“Why, a chicken, I should say.” 

“No; guess again.” And her radiant eyes beamed 
with amusement. 

“It's too large for a partridge. Ell have to give it 
up.” 

“You don't know because you've never lived among 
the hills. It's a young pheasant.” 

“A young pheasant !” I exclaimed, in surprise. 
“Where and how did you catch it ?” 


32 


Richard Gordon 


“I found it in the chincapin copse just beyond the 
cornfield, and I caught it on the wing, with about 
thirty-six grains of powder and an ounce of leaden 
pellets,” was her smiling reply. 

“Is it possible that you shot this bird yourself ?” I 
asked, with unfeigned astonishment. 

“Yes, it is both possible and true. But your break- 
fast is getting cold while we are talking. Let me cut 
it up, and then you can eat as I tell you about it.” 

Thus saying, she carved the fowl rapidly, spread 
butter on the bread, and bade me proceed with my 
meal. I ate with keenest relish. 

“Now,” said she, “Til tell you how I caught the 
pheasant. I know their haunts. They are fond of 
chincapins and beechnuts. So just before sunrise I 
put on a dark dress, took down my fowling-piece, and, 
slipping out to the edge of the coppice, waited. Soon I 
heard the drumming of an old father bird, as he called 
up his family. I imitated the answering notes of the 
young ones, and directly I heard a rustling among the 
dry leaves, when the whole lovely brood came running 
into plain view. I flushed them as I rose up, and sing- 
ling out one that had become separated from the oth- 
ers in its flight, I brought it down, and here it is. 
Wouldn’t you call that dispatch?” 

Her musical laughter filled the room, as she con- 
cluded her astounding narrative. 

“Well,” I said, “your account simply confirms me in 
the belief that you are verily the ne plus ultra of femi- 
nine wonderment. I not only have never seen, but 
have never heard of your equal. You make me feel 
like a pigmy. And it was the report of your gun that 
I heard about an hour ago ?” 

“Yes, I presume it was.” 

“Edith, how old are you?” I asked, abruptly, if not 
rudely. 

“That is a blunt, rude question,” she said, blushing 
slightly. 


Richard Gordon 


33 


“I know it is, and I beg your pardon. But it was 
prompted by a desire to learn how so much intelli- 
gence, information, tact, skill, refinement, good sense, 
v and all-round loveliness could have been acquired and 
developed by one of your evident youthfulness.” 

Looking straight into my eyes, with that mysterious, 
sober intentness of regard, which I had already no- 
ticed, she replied : 

“I may not be all that you think. But I do not ob- 
ject to telling you my age. I am nineteen.” 

Then tactfully changing the subject, she continued: 
“This is one of my holidays, and, after a while, I will 
come in and read to you. One of my duties is to run 
the grist mill on the creek, but at this season of the 
year the water is usually so low I can’t grind on more 
than two days — Tuesday and Saturday — of each week. 
This being Thursday, I shall have to-day and to-mor- 
row to devote to you, and other pleasures.” 

With this she bestowed on me a bewitching smile, 
and, lifting the salver, containing the relics of my 
breakfast, passed out of the room. 

Well ! well ! I mentally exclaimed, was there ever 
another such human enigma? At once the kindest, 
gentlest of beings, stopping at nothing to give others 
relief, comfort, and pleasure; and yet there was that 
in her manner, her mein, her eye, bespoke the courage 
of a lioness defending her whelp. She was a girl 
whom it would be dangerous to arouse — fatal to in- 
sult. I, of all men, would suffer my right arm to be 
burned away, inch by inch, sooner than offer her in- 
dignity, or wantonly provoke her to anger. 

As I lay there thinking over the incidents of the 
preceding day, I recalled what and how Edith had 
done for me — the patient perseverance, the thought- 
ful, infinite womanly tenderness with which she had 
toiled to stop the bleeding of my wound, and, that ac- 
complished, how she had struggled and lifted to get 
me, a great, limp hulk, into the buggy. I remembered 
with what inimitable nerve, fortitude, she had got into 


34 


Richard Gordon 


the buggy beside me, behind a horse that had almost 
killed his owner but a short time before, and, taking 
the lines, had driven me to her home for attention 
and treatment. 

Nine hundred and ninety-nine girls, or women, for 
that matter, out of a thousand would have rushed, 
breathless and half fainting, up the hill and declared 
to the first person they met, that a horse had run away 
down the road and killed three men. 

There are, likewise, some men, who, in similar 
straits, would have proved about the same sort of de- 
pendence. 

Reflections are of divers sorts — sometimes bitter, 
sometimes sweet. Mine, as I lay there with eyes fixed 
upon the ceiling, assumed perplexing vagary, infinite 
variety. Yet my thoughts — let them stray whitherso- 
ever they would — ultimately turned back to the one 
magic, absorbing ideal — Edith. 

Like most youths of my age, I had had sweethearts 
and love affairs innumerable, but never until now had 
the image of any woman been enshrined in the inner- 
most precinct of my “heart of hearts.” But I would 
not tell her — yet. 

After all, she might be in love with some other fel- 
low, and at the thought I shivered. Again, she might 
be doing for me only what she would have done for 
any other in similar circumstances, I reflected, recall- 
ing her language of the afternoon before. And yet, I 
could not have helped loving her, if I had stubbornly 
shut my eyes, plugged my ears, and tried. Her spirit- 
effigy was within me to dwell. The trend of sentiment 
is something we cannot always control, especially if 
the spirit be ready and the flesh puny. 

Uncle Reuben came in and inquired how I had 
rested. After replenishing the fire he examined my 
sore head, and assured me that it was “doin’ fust 
rate.” Observing that he carried a cob pipe in his 
hand, and naturally inferring that he smoked, I re- 
quested him to place my suit-case on the chair near 


Richard Gordon 


35 


my bed. He did so ; and I took out a package of 
smoking tobacco, which I gave him, asking that he 
accept it as a present. 

“I thank you’ns very much, sir. I have been a 
smoker and chawer of tobacco for nigh on to eighty- 
five year, and I have drawed a great deal of comfort 
and pleasure from hit’s use. Some folks contend that 
hit is injurious to the health, but I can’t see that hit 
has had a bad effect on me, leastwise, hit has not 
shortened my days. I commenced to smoke and chaw 
when I was a leetle the rise of fourteen year old, and 
have kept hit up pretty reg’lar ever since. I have 
calklated that the amount I have consumed in that 
length of time could not be growed in the State of 
Tennessee in two year, if the whole area was set in 
tobacco.” 

Sick or well, I would have exploded if I had not 
been permitted to laugh at this statement. 

“Well, sir, I have no doubt but that you have be- 
come, by this time, a competent and an expert judge 
of its quality. So please fill your pipe and let me in- 
hale the fumes, while you perform the act of smok- 
ing.” 

“Very well, sir; if you’ns think the smoke will not 
have a bad effect on you’ns.” 

“It will not, I assure you. I enjoy it.” 

And as he smoked I began to “calklate” a little my- 
self. He had said that he had been a user of tobacco 
for about eighty-five years, and that he began its use 
when a little over fourteen years of age ; hence his 
present age must be in the neighborhood of ninety- 
nine years. Truly, a remarkable case of longevity! 
And yet I did not doubt the accuracy of his daim; 
his very appearance corroborated it. 

His forehead, naturally high, was heightened by 
a baldness that extended two or three inches upon the 
top of his head, the remainder of his cranium being 
covered with long, white locks, which trained and rest- 
ed upon his shoulders. The lower portion of his fea- 


3 ^ 


Richard Gordon 


tures was ornamented with a full growth of beard, 
and that, too, of snowy whiteness, except for a stain 
of ambier that ran downward from the point of his 
chin. His eyes, though deep set, were clear and bright, 
and I was struck with the fact that he did not use 
sight aids of any kind. His nose was large and ac- 
quiline, denoting will force and persistency; yet, with- 
al, there was a benevolence of expression that argued 
the presence of a heart in keeping with the size of its 
corporeal casement. 

He had evidently been a very large man, but the 
vicissitudes of life, the weight of years, had reduced 
his height to about six feet. He lacked but one year 
of being a centenarian. Would he reach that mark? 
I hope so, and in full possession of his faculties. 

My reverie was broken by his act of taking the 
pipe from his mouth and knocking the ashes out on 
the hearth. 

“Well, sir, what do you think of it?” I asked. 

“Hit's a powerful good artickle. I feel better all 
over. The only objection I could have to hit is, hit 
will spile me, and I'd hate to go back to a wuss grade.” 

“Don't feel any hesitancy on that score,” I said, “for 
I will get you a good supply of the same kind, and you 
need not go back to anything worse.” 

“That would be a treat, to be shore, for I believe 
I could live ten year longer, if I had sich tobacco as 
this to prop me up.” 

I thereupon took from my valise a plug of the chew- 
ing tobacco, with which I had provided myself, and 
offered it to him. But he at first declined it, saying : 

“I seed an article in a newspaper some time ago, 
chargin' that the tobacco growers was a usin' pizen 
on the'r crops to kill the worms and save labor, and 
I've been af ear’d to chaw the manerfactered stuff ever 
since, — hit mought kill the chawers, too.” 

“You need not be afraid to chew this,” I insisted; 
“it was grown and manufactured by a man who lives 
and owns a factory in my county. He could not af- 


Richard Gordon 37 

ford to poison his own customers ; he would soon have 
to retire from business.” 

Seeing the force of my argument, he cut off a good 
sized quid and began to masticate and to expectorate 
with every indication of enjoyment. In a few moments 
he arose, took two or three turns, about the room, 
and met Edith coming in, as he retired. 

“Here comes the child with her book. I hain’t got 
much book-lamin’, so Ell leave you’ns to talk about 
readin’ and sich.” 

“Don’t leave, Grandpa — the larger the company the 
greater the fun,” said she, taking hold of his arm. 
“Sometimes, child, sometimes ;” and with this he left 
us. 

“I could not make him stay,” said Edith, regretfully. 

I gave no outward expression of my feelings in the 
premises, but, inwardly, I rejoiced that this was one 
occasion upon which her efforts had failed. And as 
she took a seat near me, her book lying on her lap, 
I asked: 

“What have you there?” 

“A volume of one of my favorite authors — Honore 
De Balzac.” 

My eyes fairly bulged, my mouth flew open. Had 
she said Homer, or Herodotus, I could not have felt 
or betrayed greater surprise. But quickly recovering 
my breath, I asked : 

“Is it in the original, or a translation?” 

“Oh, a translation, of course. You could not sus- 
pect a green, back-woods girl of an affectation for 
French.” 

“No; I could not suspect you, Edith, of anything; 
but you have treated me to so many surprises, already, 
I am fearful that when the time comes to deliver your 
master-stroke, I shall be utterly powerless to with- 
stand it.” 

“I am sure I did not intend it as a surprise,” she 
said, with the suspicion of a pout.” And besides, you 


38 


Richard Gordon 


certainly flatter me in assuming that I could hold a 
master-stroke in reserve.” 

I had piqued her, and hastened to apologize. 

“Please pardon my rudeness, Edith, and tell me why 
you prefer Balzac — -a writer so little known and ap- 
preciated in this country.’' 

“Partly, because of the truth of what you have just 
said. He was so little known and appreciated, not only 
in this country, but in his own, until he was dead, and 
appreciation could do him no good. And again, I 
enjoy reading Balzac because he possessed the gift 
of saying things in such an elegant and forceful way. 
Listen. This from Eugenie Grandet : 

“ ‘The countenance of the man who is accustomed 
to draw usury from his fellows, like the countenance 
of the voluptuary, the libertine, or the gambler, ac- 
quires certain indefinable expressions — furtive, avari- 
cious, mysterious movements, that do not escape the 
observation of brother misers. This is a secret lan- 
guage that may be termed the free-masonry of the 
passions.’ ” 

Then closing the volume, she said : 

“If there is any object upon earth that I detest, de- 
spise, utterly loathe, it is that human vulture, the 
usurer. The idea of a being who has been fashioned 
in the image of his Maker, becoming completely im- 
pervious to every appeal of right; strangling and 
starving his heart until it dwindles into a flinty, petri- 
fied symbol of Greed, is a problem of psychology that 
I cannot understand.” 

As Edith, with blazing eyes and flushed face, gave 
expression to the above withering Phillipic, I resolved 
that if it should ever be my fortune to possess a mill- 
ion, or any part of a million, of dollars to lend, I 
would charge 6 per cent, interest ; and if the fellow 
was not able to pay that, when due, I would grant him 
an extension of time. 

“But, my dear girl, what can you know about usur- 
ers and their nefarious transactions?” I asked. 


Richard Gordon 


39 


“Personally, nothing ; but I have heard of so much 
misery and crime resulting from the hideous opera- 
tions of this class of people, I have been tempted to 
pray that God, in his mercy to the human race, would 
effectually annihilate the whole of the species . I feel 
and believe that a man who would deliberately cheat 
or impose upon a fellow, would not hesitate to cut 
his throat and rifle his pockets, if it were not for 
fear of the gallows. I may be a crank on this subject, 
but such are my sentiments." 

She said this with stronger emotion than I had as 
yet seen her display. 

“I fully concur with you in the belief that the usurer 
is a curse to mankind; yet I am not wholly prepared 
to say that every man who is capable of cheating a 
fellow is also capable of murdering him. The system 
has become so common, the practice so universal, that 
if your rule were rigidly applied, the great majority 
of men would, I fear, be classed as murderers/' 

“That is exactly the point — the desire, the .purpose, 
the intent, may be found within most of them, the 
only restraining force being wholesome respect for the 
law." 

“Then, hurrah for the law !" I exclaimed. 

“I came in, however, for the purpose of reading to 
you, and, without realizing it, have fallen to sermoniz- 
ing. I have no ambition to become a preacher, but I 
love fairness and right." 

“I could listen to such sermons from you all day 
long, without growing in the least fatigued," I ven- 
tured, hoping to establish myself in her good graces. 

“If you will permit me, then, to change my text, 
I want to make a request of you : Let me look after 
and exercise your horse, until you get well. He is 
such a beautiful, intelligent creature ! I admire and 
really love a chestnut sorrel. I had one of that color 
once, but she died." 

Her plea was one that I was only too glad to grant. 

“I have engaged a man," said I, “a part of whose 


40 


Richard Gordon 


duty will be to groom my horse, but you are more than 
welcome to give him all the exercise you like. Drive 
him whenever you choose.” 

“Our roads are rather too steep and rough for good 
driving — I had thought of riding him, if you do not 
care.” 

“I haven’t the slightest objection, but,” said I, re- 
flecting, “I don’t suppose he was ever ridden by a lady 
in his life, and he might throw you.” 

“I will risk that — I’ve been down to the barn, petted 
him, talked to him, and he has told me he would not 
hurt me,” said she, clasping her hands with delight. 

“Told you he wouldn’t hurt you?” I repeated, in- 
credulously. 

“Yes, can’t you understand from a horse’s look, his 
response to your caresses, whether he would try to 
hurt you or not, if you gave him an opportunity ?” 

“I don’t think I have ever tried to fully understand 
the looks and language of horses,” I said, “although 
I know there are some whose viciousness is apparent 
at a glance, while others seem docile and kind. The 
shape of the head is generally a good index to their 
disposition.” This I said with the assumed wisdom 
of a veterinarian. 

“A horse knows, instinctively, if one is afraid of 
him ; so, if you will be kind to him ; and his vanity re- 
sponds to admiration. If you aren’t afraid of him he 
will obey you ; if you are considerate and humane he 
will appreciate your kindness; and if you encourage 
him, his pride will sustain and urge him to his best 
efforts.” 

“Edith, is there anything you don’t know ? Get the 
horse and ride him. Be careful ; if he should hurt you. 
I would kill him.” 

She caught my hand and pressed it, saying: 

“I’ll be back in an hour, safe and sound. Don’t be 
uneasy.” 

Alone, again, to think and ponder ! But yesterday, 
and my paragon of womankind had been a sweet, 


Richard Gordon 


4i 


round, pink face, that suggested rouge; a wealth of 
auburn hair, a la pompadour ; large brown eyes, spark- 
ling with merriment ; full red lips, parted with a smile, 
and disclosing two rows of teeth, richly embellished 
with dentists’ gold — Marguerite. Today, the limp, 
bruised and erstwhile bleeding captive of the strangest 
combination of personal charm, courage, gentleness, 
unaffected solicitude and considerate attentiveness — 
associated with, yet completely dominated by, a mind 
whose acquirements, polish and native intelligence 
might have thrown lustre upon a princess royal — 
Edith, a child of the hills. 

As being eminently applicable to the latter I thought 
of the lines of a sweet writer of the long ago : 

“Her soul was like a lake lying on some high moun- 
tain-top; the blue heaven might color its pure wave, — 
the fervid sun might glitter on its surface, and the 
cold moon silver its placid waters, — the stars might 
mirror themselves within it, and the wild flowers, 
on its margin, stoop to kiss their own sweet images ; 
but its hidden depths had never been stirred by hu- 
man hand, nor had the shadow of a passion ever dark- 
ened its pellucid flow.” 

I resolved that she should have my horse, even if I 
had to make the residue of life’s pilgrimage on foot. 


42 


Richard Gordon 


CHAPTER IV. 

The man whom Rube had hired for me, now made 
his appearance, and, to my surprise, proved to be the 
fellow I had seen and questioned at the store, just 
before the accident befell me. I told him what I 
should expect him to do, adding that I had very se- 
rious doubts whether these people, upon whose hands 
I had been thrown, would ever accept a cent for their 
kindness and attention to me. 

He suggested that I would, in that event, be so 
much the better off. 

“Yes,” said I,” that is true, in one sense, but it is 
not what I want. If I can’t repay them in one way, 
I hope to partially do so in some other. Now, I 
shall not require the whole of your time ; but at morn- 
ing, noon and night I shall need your help. I shall 
want you to attend to my horse ; feed, water, and curry 
him well ; keep his stall clean ; and at night make him 
a good bed of straw to sleep on. I take it for granted 
there will be no objection to your occupying this room 
at night, so that, in case I should need anything, you 
will be within call. 

“But what I am driving at is this: When you are 
not waiting on me, or attending to my horse, I should 
want you to go to the field and help Rube with his 
corn-gathering, or anything else you can do to aid him 
in his work. For this service I will pay you one dollar 
a day, and, if there should be anything extra, in the 
way of board and lodging for yourself, I will pay that 
charge in addition to your wages. Do you accept my 
terms ?” 

I knew that this offer w r as at least fifty cents per 
day more than he had ever received as wages, yet, like 


Richard Gordon 


43 


all men of his class, he thought he saw a chance to 
bleed and drive a hard bargain ; so he squirmed, 
frowned, scratched his head, and finally said : 

“If you’ns want a feller to do two men’s work, hit 
’pears like you’ns oughter be willin’ to pay two men’s 
wages.” 

Nettled at this disposition to gouge a man on his 
back, I replied: 

“I am offering you double wages, and nobody 
knows that fact better than you do; but if you think 
you can command more, you are at liberty to go home, 
and I will make other arrangements.” 

“Well, bein’ as I’ll have so much to do, I think 
you’ns mought pay me one dollar and a half, anyhow.” 

“No; I’ve stated my terms.” 

He shifted from one foot to the other. 

“Make hit a dollar and a quarter, and I’ll stay,” 

“Not a damned cent more,” I thundered, thoroughly 
out of patience. 

He made two or three turns about the room, went 
to the door, then stopped. 

“Wall, if you’ns won’t do no better, I reckin I’ll 
have to take hit, but that looks like mighty leetle fer 
the job.” 

“All right,” said I, “that’s a trade.” 

I afterwards learned from Rube that this fellow 
had agreed, with him, to do all I might require of him 
for sixty cents a day ; but he made it a point to get 
there himself before Rube had had a chance to tell me. 

This trait seems to be bred in the bone and marrow 
of these hill country people ; but if one of them should 
find a dollar in the road, and felt reasonably certain 
that you had lost it, he would walk five miles out of 
his way to restore it to you. This is merely their way 
of differentiating between thrift and theft. To skin a 
fellow alive in a trade is a commendable achievement, 
but to take one’s property “unbeknownst to him is jest 
onery stealin’.” These people lack many points of be- 
ing full-fledged saints, yet instances are notably rare 


44 


Richard Gordon 


in which one of them has been sent to prison for lar- 
ceny. 

In their enterprising negotiations there seems to be 
a total absence of malice prepense, for they do not 
meditate harm to the other party, especially — only the 
most possible good for themselves. Yet, I cannot 
think they should be universally condemned for this 
hereditary characteristic, since I am by no means sure 
that they enjoy a monopoly of that particular kind of 
dealing. Some other localities, which I might mention, 
appear to have infringed upon their rights — borrowed 
their patent. 

Another peculiarity of these people is the fact that 
they never speak of one another as Mr., Mrs., or Miss 
So and So. It is always plain Jane Smith or Tom 
Jones, except when some person in the community 
has reached a very advanced age, then they adopt the 
prefix, Uncle or Aunt, as a mark of respect. In the 
common amenities of life they are sadly deficient, 
while at heart they are generous and kindly. 

As a rule the males spend the greater portion of 
their time fishing, hunting and talking politics, while 
the drudgery of life falls to the hands and upon the 
shoulders and backs of the women. The latter have 
become, from long-established custom, so inured to 
this system they do not seem to mind it, or to expect 
anything else. They chop and carry in wood, work the 
garden, milk the cows, wash, and do the ironing, cook 
three meals a day, if they can find the raw material, 
and attend to all other household duties. The laborer 
in this particular vineyard is well worthy of her hire; 
she gets very little out of it. 

Just before noon Edith appeared at the door, hold 1 
ing a dark riding skirt in one hand, while she twirled 
a little raw-hide whip in the other. 

“What did I tell you? Do I look as if I had been 
thrown ?” she asked ,with an arch smile. 

“Well, yes; you look as though you might have been 


Richard Gordon 45 

thrown, or had accidentally tumbled, out of paradise — 
But come in and tell me about your trip.” 

“No, indeed ; not after that.” And she blushed glor- 
iously. . 

“But do, please. I won’t offend any more — right 
now. I want to hear how the horse behaved.” 

“Why, he is just a splendid traveler, a perfect lyric 
in horse flesh, and not one bit afraid of skirts. Before 
I attempted to mount I held my riding skirt in front 
of him, let him smell it; then put it on his back, and 
brushed his flanks, — went back and held it to his nose 
again ; and, when I was ready, he was ready. So I 
rode over to town, and here are the Nashville papers.” 

“Well, bless your heart! You seem to know, intui- 
tively, what a fellow would like best.” 

I was delighted. 

“Oh, that’s nothing. I know that all men enjoy the 
papers, especially when they are so circumstanced as 
that they can’t do much else but read.” 

Then regarding me intently for a moment, she said : 
“I saw Abner Merritt on the porch, and he told me he 
had come to nurse you. Have you dismissed me?” 

I thought — the fancy might have been born of my 
conceit — I had detected on accent of reproach in her 
voice, a shadow of disappointment on her classic 
brow. 

“No, Edith, no. There is no living being who could 
take your place with me now. I have hired this fel- 
low to do for me such things as only a strong man 
should be expected to do. And besides, a sick or dis- 
abled man must have somebody to swear at once in a 
while ; if he couldn’t do that the boiler would burst, 
sure. Abner looks like a fellow who wouldn’t mind a 
little cussing, occasionally, if he was paid for it.” 

“I had hoped you did not swear. But I believe all 
men do, when they think nobody is listening.” This 
with a roguish toss of the head. 

“Yes; the best of us are a bad lot. The very Old 


46 


Richard Gordon 


Nick is in us all as big as a mule. This isn’t very pol- 
ished language, but it’s every-day truth, in the rough.” 

“I see,” said she, with the merriest twinkle in her 
eyes, “you just want me to take issue with you; but 
I’m not going to do it — I am willing to accept your 
statement as a fact, this time. But what do you sup- 
pose the Old Nick in you would like for dinner, if he 
had his choice?” 

“If he feels as completely floored as I do, I’m sure 
he needs some kind of a stimulant,” I suggested. 

“Maybe he does, but you don’t; and I shall not 
pander to his depraved taste.” 

“Well, in this case, both Old Nick and his most obe- 
dient will thankfully accept anything you may choose 
to bring or send them.” 

“Then give him my regards, and ask him to be pa- 
tient for just a few moments.” 

She thereupon disappeared through the door. 

And she was not a prude, after all; but a jolly, fun- 
loving girl, who was willing to carry even a rough 
jest to its proper conclusion. I had dropped the gaunt- 
let at a venture, just to see how she would take it. 
And I saw. 

In a few minutes she returned with a bountiful re- 
past, prepared and served in such a manner as only a 
kind-hearted, thoughtful woman can do such things. 

“You have employed Abner to wait on you,” she 
said,” but there is one province he shall not usurp — 
that of serving your meals. In this I am going to be 
the boss/' 

“I am only too willing to be bossed by such a tyrant- 
ess,” I replied. “But, Edith, will you pardon my 
curiosity and impertinence, if I ask you a question?” 

“I will pardon the curiosity and impertinence, but 
reserve the right to withhold an answer, if it should 
prove to be something you ought not to know.” And 
as she spoke her features assumed that intent, fixed 
expression which was peculiar to her. 


Richard Gordon 


47 


“Well, it is this: A blind man might see, an idiot 
perceive, that you are infinitely superior to your en- 
vironment. In physical symmetry, mental attainment 
and heart impulse, you are, in my humble opinion, 
above and beyond, not only these, but any other, sur- 
roundings. Have you always lived here? How did 
you acquire the knowledge you possess? And who 
taught you?” 

As I concluded her face relaxed into a beautiful 
smile. 

“You began by saying you wanted to ask me a 
question, and you have asked me three. Yet I will 
try to answer them. I have lived here with Grandpa 
since I was an infant. My mother was his youngest 
child ; and, after the death of my father, which oc- 
curred soon after my birth, she came here to reside. 
She, however, did not survive my father more than a 
year; so I am one of those much-to-be-pitied objects — 
an orphan. As for my personal attractions, etc., I 
know that you are somewhat given to cajolery and 
bonmot, so I will let that pass. 

“When I was about eight years of age there came 
into our home a young lady, who was seeking a posi- 
tion as school teacher. She was from Chattanooga, 
and her name was Mildred McBreyar. Grandpa be- 
came interested in her behalf, and soon succeeded in 
organizing a school of twenty-odd pupils, I being one 
of the number. She taught the children of this com- 
munity for four consecutive years, then, to my infinite 
sorrow, contracted a severe cold and died of pneu- 
monia. 

“She, like myself, was an orphan, and had been 
educated at one of the charitable schools in Chatta- 
nooga. She took a great fancy to me — perhaps, be- 
cause of a sympathy aroused by fellow-feeling. She 
was an accomplished conversationalist, and did her 
best to keep me from falling into careless ways of 
talking. Making a companion of me, she gave me 
the benefit, so far as I was capable of receiving it, not 


48 


Richard Gordon 


only of what she had gleaned from text-books, but 
of what she knew of history, literature, art and of 
the familiar sciences. She would talk to me as to one 
of her own age, and controlled me by kindness. 

“I loved her better than any living mortal, and when 
she died we claimed her remains, hurrying them in 
the little graveyard in the corner of the garden. Most 
of her effects we sent to some distant relatives who, 
as usual, made themselves known in order to ascertain 
if she had left any property. But her library, consist- 
ing of about thirty-five volumes, she left to me. I 
have read these books — some of them, many times; 
and it is to them and to her I owe all that you are 
pleased to term my attainments.” 

“I thank you for the information and for your con- 
fidence,” I said. “But I have again been selfish enough 
to keep you here entertaining me while I ate, forget- 
ting that you had not eaten your own dinner — inex- 
cusable thoughtlessness in me, since you must be hun- 
gry after your long ride.” 

“I must plead guilty to that impeachment,” she re- 
joined,” for I am what stockmen term a good feeder.” 

And as I had finished my meal she took out the tray. 

This, then, was the explanation of Edith’s extraor- 
dinary fund of information. And yet, it was only half 
an explanation ; for, according to her account, she was 
but twelve years old at the time of her teacher’s 
death. This companion and preceptress might have 
laid the foundation, but Nature and her own architec- 
tural skill had builded the rest. And it was a com- 
plete, finished, beautiful structure. 

j|! >Js 5j< Jj« 

In almost every normal, systematic, full-functioned 
human mind there is apt to exist some dominant idea, 
or methodical association of ideas, which is termed by 
some, ambition ; by others, a hobby. This hobby is 
the nag upon which we make our mental pilgrimages, 


Richard Gordon 


49 


when we desire to pay a visit to the shrine of our 
idolatry. We do not go, now-a-days, bare-foot and 
in sack-cloth and ashes, but in patent-leather boots and 
our best toggery. Whether the various offerings are 
as acceptable under latter-day conditions as they were 
under a more austere regime is a mooted question ; but 
they are at least productive of greater results. 

Hence I thought that Edith, with her extraordinary 
mental endowments, her matchless grace of physical 
mold, must have some other and higher aim, aspira- 
tion in life than that of operating a grist mill. She 
was too rare a flower to have been born to blush un- 
seen and waste her sweetness on this desert air. 

If, however, she cherished the ambition to become 
other than what she was, or seemed, she had given me 
no intimation of the fact. I might wait and see. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 

About 3 o'clock that afternoon Uncle Reuben came 
in with his pipe and tobacco, and after he had taken a 
seat and stretched his long legs before the fire, I re- 
marked : 

“I have noticed, Mr. Ralston, that you have quite 
a collection of guns, knives, etc., and have imagined 
that there must be some interesting bit of history con- 
nected with each one, since you have kept them through 
so many years." 

“Wall, yes, sir ; most of them weepons have seed and 
helped to make some pretty lively times in the'r day." 

He here surveyed the walls of the room, upon 
which a dozen or more guns of different patterns 
rested in rude racks that were fastened to the logs. 

“Thar's the old musket that I toted when I went 
down to the Everglades with Col. John Sav- 
age to clean out the In jins. We'ns had a pretty tough 
time of hit, I can tell you’ns; but we'ns finally kilt 
most of the yaller varmints, and driv the balance of 
them so deep into the swamps they got lost and never 


50 


Richard Gordon 


done no more harm. That was a pesky, onery trip, 
and when we’ns got home we'ns wan’t covered with 
much glory, but was covered all over with gray-backs, 
and half eat up by skeeters and sand-fleas. Hit tuck 
me nigh onto six months to git cleaned off and feel 
like a white man again. I don't want no more Injin 
fightin' in mine. 

“Did you'ns ever know Col. John — John Savage, I 
mean? No — well, he was, in them days, a reglar little 
game-cock — alius a crowin' and a banterin' for a fight. 
He would tackle the biggest man in the state, and give 
him a chaw of tobacco to fight him. I was older and 
bigger than him, but he know'd more than I did, and 
I went to school to him, 'way back in the twenties. 
He'd git mad at me sometimes, and jump onto me, and 
the only way I could keep him from hurtin' me was to 
grab him 'round the waist and hold him up off the 
ground, so he couldn't do nothin' but kick and cuss. 
That was the only way I ever fit him. I never hit 
him a lick in my life. He just 'peared to git mad be- 
cause I was bigger than him, and wanted to make me 
fight him anyhow. That high temper of his was all 
that kept him from bein’ a powerful gre't man. He 
had the brains. 

“And, then, thar’s a Bowie-knife, and a buckskin 
jacket that sarved me a mighty good turn one night, 
somethin' better than seventy year ago. When we'ns 
fust settled in this county, hit was pretty wild, and 
varmints was mighty common here'bouts. The coons 
and foxes ketched our fowls, and the catamounts, pan- 
t'ers and b’ars toted off our pigs, lambs, and even a 
young calf, now and then, until hit got to be power- 
ful aggravatin'. I hain't got much respect for an old 
black b'ar — he's too awkward and clumsy to do a 
feller much harm, and I've kilt the rise of four hundred 
of 'em, without ever gittin much more than a scratch. 
But when a man runs onto one of these here old white- 
bellied, boar pant’ers on a dark night, he’s got a job on 


Richard Gordon 


5i 

his hands that will ockapy about all his time for the 
next half-hour, and no mistake 'bout that. 

“That's just what happened to me one snowy night 
in Jinuary, when I was livin' in the little one-room log 
house that stands over thar in the corner of the yard. 
About 2 o'clock in the mornin', Sahry, my wife, shuck 
me and told me to git up, quick, somethin' was arter 
the stock out in the stable-lot. I could hear the hogs 
squealin', the cow bawlin' and the old horse a snortin' 
to beat the world. I leaped out of the bed, jerked on 
my breeches and boots, put on that old buckskin jacket 
and coon skin cap and bolted down thar, with my gun 
and knife, makin' ten foot at a jump. Hit want neither 
light nor dark, but betwixt and between, for the moon 
was doin' hit's best to shine through the clouds, and 
hit was still spittin’ fine flakes of snow. 

“When I got to the lot fence I could see that some- 
thin' had done tore a hole in the roof of my hog pen, 
and I know'd from that hit was either a b'ar or a 
pant'er, for nothin' smaller could have done that. I 
dumb over the fence, and went on as fast as I could, 
and when I got in twenty steps of the pen, out jumped 
one of the biggest old white-bellied pant’ers I ever 
seed in this country. He lit on the ground a snarlin' 
and a growlin', with a twenty-pound pig in his jaws. 
As he struck the dirt, I let him have hit. But, sir, hit 
never phased him. He give a yell that made my hair 
stand on end, and lit out across the lot, makin' twenty 
foot at a leap. But he hung onto the pig. I was so 
mad and excited I never tuck time to reload the gun, 
but followed as fast as I could, guided by the squeals 
of the pig. 

“When I had got about a quarter from the house, 
down on the bank of the crick, I stumbled over the 
pig, layin' thar in the snow, dead, just under a leanin' 
chincapin oak. I stooped down to pick up the pig, and 
when I done that, somethin' fetched me a lick be- 
twixt the shoulders that sent me heels over head, right 
plumb into the crick. 


52 


Richard Gordon 


“Hit was so suddent and unexpected, he got the 
under-holt on me, for I was nearly strangled by the 
water. But I knowd thar had to be a fight to the eend, 
right then and thar, and the best man would whop. 
So I shuck the water — hit wasn’t more than three feet 
deep — out of my eyes and riz up, fetchin’ out my 
knife as I come. Just then the gray gentleman lit onto 
me, and fastened his teeth in my left shoulder. With 
his fore paws he hung to my body, while with his hind 
claws he tore my breeches and drawers into cyarpet 
rags. I thought he would strip every ounce of flesh 
off my bones. 

“But I kept chokin’ him with my left hand, and 
plungin’ my knife into him, until he let go my shoul- 
der. When he done that I drapped on my knees and 
soused his head under the water, fetchin’ him two 
quick, hard jabs plumb through the heart — and he 
fell back, dead. 

“If hit hadn’t been for that old jacket thar would 
have been two funerals right thar, for he would have 
tore me into sausage-meat. But hit was so hard and 
tough his claws couldn’t t’ar th’ough hit, and that’s 
all that saved me. His teeth went to the bone of my 
shoulder, but that was the wust damage he done to 
the upper part of my body. I then ketched him by 
the tail and drug him out to the bank, left him thar, 
and made my way back to the house, bleedin’ like a 
stuck hog at every step. 

“Sahry, poor thing, was skeered mighty nigh to 
death, and, to tell the truth, I was, too, for I had lost 
so much blood I could scarcely walk. But she patched 
me up as best she could, and, when daylight come, she 
tuck two of the oldest children down thar, put the dead 
pant’er on a sled, and brought the cyarcass to the 
house. He weighed, then, eighty-six pounds, and had 
twenty-five holes in him — airy one of ’em enough to 
have kilt any common animal. His hide wasn’t woth 
savin’, and mine wasn't in much better shape, for hit 
tuck me three months to git over that scrap. 


Richard Gordon 


53 


“Yes, sir, every one of them traps and weepons has 
got hits own history, and I could talk to you'ns a 
week without runnin' plum through the list. 

“But thar’s one more up thar, just over the window 
— a long cyarbine- — that has a more than common in- 
terest for me. Hit's the gun I toted through the 
Mexican war, under Giner'l Zach'ry Taylor, and every 
time hit made a greaser chaw the sand, and I knowd 
hit to be a fact, I hacked a notch on the breech with 
my knife. I disremember now, but I think thar’s 
about forty-seven of them nicks on the stock. But 
thar's one on the barr'l that I didn't put thar myself 
nor authorize anybody else to put thar. 

“We'ns had fout and fout all over northern Mex- 
ico, a whoppin' and a killin' the greasers by the thou- 
sands. We’ns had tuck Palo Alto, Resacy de la 
Palmy, and a hundred other places; and when we'ns 
had cleaned 'em up at Beuna Vista, I was ordered to 
go and take charge of the horses that belonged to a 
certain regiment of Mexicans that had been captured. 
I stepped up to the connel, a mean-lookin' black- 
bearded cuss, who was a settin' thar on his horse, and 
tuck hold of the bridle, makin' a motion for him to 
git down. Instid of obeyin' my orders he riz up in 
the stirrups and fetched a blow at my head with his 
sword that would have split my skull wide open, if I 
hadn't throwd up my gun and warded off the lick. 
He struck the barr’l, and made a gash in hit that 
come mighty nigh goin' plumb through. 

“That made me mad, and I clubbed my gun and 
give him a biff that sent him sprawlin' on the ground, 
ten foot away. I then jumped onto him with both 
feet, and would have stomped the gizzard out of the 
nasty buzzard, if the boys hadn't ketched hold of me 
and pulled me off him. Yes, sir, he tried to kill me 
arter he'd done surrendered. 

“They may talk about big men, gre't gener'ls, and 
all that, but my judgment is that they don't make 'em 
any better than old Giner'l Zach'ry Taylor. Ah, sir, 


54 


Richard Gordon 


he was a man and a fighter arter my own heart. He 
just looked like a gre’t big yaller-maned lion, and the 
noblest man I ever seed on horse-back. When he was 
pourin' lead into them jackals out thar, he’d stand up 
in his stirrups and shout, in a voice that could be 
hyeard a mile, 'Give ’em hell, boys. By God, the 
United States can whop the world, and the balance 
of mankind throwd in !’ And he b’lieved hit. Yes, 
sir, he was a grand man ; and when I hyeard of his 
death I couldn’t help cryin’, just the same as if he 
had been my own brother. I can’t help thinkin’ that 
if he had lived through his term as president this 
country would have been different from what hit is; 
he would have started every thing on the right track. 

“I have seed and knowd a gre’t many big men in 
my day. Giner’l Andy Jackson used to stop «here 
sometimes when he was on his way to Washington. 
At that time I had just finished this house, and hit was 
new and nice ; and once or twice he spent the night 
with me. Although he was such a gre’t man, he was 
powerful social and friendly. I rickerlect that on one 
of his trips he called me to one side and says, says he : 

"Reuben, thar is one thing I forgot when I left 
home, and I’ve ben pestered about hit all the way up 
here.’ 

"'What’s that, Giner’l?’ says I. 

" 'Why, I forgot to bring along a supply of cobs, 
and I don’t know what I’ll do for pipes when I git 
to Washington.’’ 

"Well, Giner’l, I can fix you’ns up all right on that. 
I’ve just shelled two bushels of corn to take to the 
mill, and thar’s all the cobs right thar in the crib. I’ll 
put ’em in a sack so you’ns can pack ’em under the 
seat of the kerrage; and then I’ll throw in a bundle 
of cane stems, enough to keep you’ns smokin’ for five 
year.’ 

"Yes, sir, I done that very thing, and he went down 
to the corn crib and helt the sack open while I picked 
p the cobs and put ’em in. And thar hangs a walkin’ 


Richard Gordon 


55 

stick he give me that he had cut on his plantation 
that he called the Hyermitage. 

“Then thar was Felix Grundy, Jeemes K. Polk, 
John Bell, Jimmie Jones, Meredith P. Gentry, Andy 
Johnson, Horace Maynard, the two Browns, and lots 
of other gre’t men that used to come through this 
country, when they was canvassin’ for office. I alius 
thought Mr. Polk was a unusual smart man; but I 
hyeard some time back that he writ his own will, and 
long arter his death his ars tuck hit into court and 
hit wouldn’t hold water. So we’ns can’t tell how 
smart a man was until arter he’s dead, and the courts 
take a whack at him.” 

“I don’t suppose you took any part, personally, in 
the civil war,” I remarked. 

“No, no, sir ; seein’ that I had went through one 
Injun war, and spent a leetle more than a year fightin’ 
the Mexicans, I ’lowed I had had enough of that 
kind of thing, specially as I have been totin’ about four 
ounces of Mexican lead around with me ever since I 
come out of that rumpus. I have alius been mighty 
glad that I happened to be hit by two bullets that 
wasn’t pizoned. But Uncle Sam has been very gen- 
erous to me for a good many year, and I haint got no 
room to complain. 

“I didn’t go into the civil war because I didn’t have 
no niggers to fight for; and then, I had fit twice un- 
der the flag of the United States, and I didn’t want 
to fight agin hit narry a time. Ah, sir, that war was 
the thing that tried men’s souls and broke women’s 
hearts in this country. Me and Sahry had had four- 
teen children, and never lost one of ’em up to that 
time. Thar were nine boys and five gyrls. Leavin’ 
out Rube, who was too young, all my boys was in 
that war — four on one side and four on t’other. Enoch 
and John had moved to Texas, Jackson to Mississippi, 
and Caleb had located in Arkansas. They went with 
the South. Then thar was Homer and Ephraim who 
went to Indiana, while Joseph settled in Ohio, and 


56 


Richard Gordon 


Isham in East Tennessee. These four jined the 
Union army. And the saddest thought to me has 
been that some of them mought have sent the bullets 
that slew thar brothers — for five of them never come 
home again. Hit was this thought that finally kilt 
thar poor mother, and if I hadn’t been made of some- 
thin’ tougher than common, I reckon hit would have 
kilt me too.” 

As the old man uttered this last sentence, tears 
gathered in his eyes, then dropped into the seams in 
his time-furrowed cheeks. 

“But, sir, I hope you’ns will pardon me for talkin’ 
so much. Hit aint often I see a stranger to talk to, 
and old folks, like me, are mighty apt to abuse the 
privilege. When we’ns are livin’ on borrowed time, 
we’ns are almost sure to think and talk of what lies 
behind us. In the nat’ral order of things, thar can 
be so leetle ahead, we’ns are afeard to plan for to- 
morrow. If the morrow comes, we’ns let the day 
provide for hitself. The sand-glass of my life must 
be night unto empty.” 


Richard Gordon 


57 


CHAPTER V. 

A short while after supper, and emanating from 
the room just across the open passage-way, I heard 
the subdued strains of a violin, accompanied by some 
stringed instrument, which I took to be a guitar. Up 
to this time I had not heard a single note of any kind, 
not even the voice of a woman humming a Sunday- 
school song ; and had wondered if the unusual si- 
lence in this particular was enforced by consideration 
for my own nerves. 

Although I had never been able to distinguish one 
note from another, nor even to whistle a tune, yet, like 
the Shakespearean savage breast, my own anatomy 
had ever been irresistibly attracted by music — let it 
be a concord or a discord of sweet sounds. It could 
make no odds with me whether the melody was pro- 
duced by a negro ban joist or German opera ; the 
mere fact that there was music in the air was sure to 
give me the infection. 

As the players reeled off the Mississippi Sawyer, 
William in the Low Ground, and the Arkansas Trav- 
eler, it was all I could do to resist the impulse to get 
up and travel myself, even though the performance 
would have had to be given on one leg. If I could 
not pirouette, or cut the pigeon's wing, I could at 
least mark heel-and-toe time with a sincerity of pur- 
pose that would have been creditable to the single- 
ness of my pedestal. But a one-legged man at a dance 
is terribly handicapped ; so I sighed and listened. 

The character of the music was now changed, and 
I heard, with keenest enjoyment, the dulcet strains 
of that almost forgotten song, When you and I were 
young, Maggie; then Kathleen Mavourneen, Bonnie 


58 


Richard Gordon 


Anie Laurie, Scotch Lassie Jeane, and other familiar 
old ballads, which, for pure melody and musical senti- 
ment, have never been excelled. 

Again the key-board, so to speak, was shifted, and 
I listened with rapture to the simple but soul-stirring 
rendition of Suwanee River, The Old Log Cabin in 
the Lane, My Old Kentucky Home, and, as a fitting 
finale , to that ever welcome heroic, Dixie. 

Their playing was, I suppose, guiltless of flourish, 
or, what connoisseurs are pleased to term technique; 
yet, to my untrained ear, it was genuine, Simon-pure 
melody. And as I lay there listening to this series 
of instrumental duets, I thought I had never heard 
anything half so gloriously sweet in my life. I could 
not distinguish the voices of the performers, as they 
talked between times, and could only conjecture as 
to who they were. But when Dixie had been rendered, 
they seemed to lay aside their instruments, since the 
music from that time ceased; and directly thereafter 
I heard the door to the opposite room open, then my 
own, and the shock-head of Zeb was thrust in to take 
a survey of things. 

“Zeb,” said I, “come here. Who were playing in 
the other room just now?” 

“Grandpap and Edith,” he replied. 

“Won’t you tell Edith I would like to speak to her?” 

“Yessir,” and out he bolted. 

She came in with a look of inquiry upon her face. 
“Edith, I don’t know when I have enjoyed anything 
as much as the treat you and your grandfather have 
just given me. It is simply astonishing to think that 
a man of his age should be able to perform on the 
violin as he does.” 

“Really, I was afraid you had sent for me to bring 
a nerve restorer of some kind, but I am truly glad to 
find that you have survived the shock. Was it very 
painful ?” 

“Painful? Yes; but only because I could not be 
near enough to get the full benefit of it,” I said. 


Richard Gordon 


59 


“Well, Grandpa always gets out his fiddle and calls 
for me whenever he feels depressed, lonely, and sad. 
He says music has the effect of dispelling his melan- 
choly; and, while neither of us can boast of any skill, 
I am more than glad to help him rout the blues. He 
never plays for company, only as an antidote for that 
kind of feeling.” 

“Then won’t you get your guitar and play for me 
right here, where I can see and hear you,” I pleaded. 

“If you think it would give you any pleasure, cer- 
tainly.” 

She thereupon left the room and returned, in a 
moment, with the instrument. 

“Do you sing?” I asked, as she took a seat. 

“Sometimes, but I have never had any instruction 
in music ; so you must be charitable and close one ear. 
What shall I sing?” 

“Kathleen Mavourneen. I heard you and your 
grandfather playing the air. But please sing it.” 

She did so ; and if that beautiful Irish ballad 
was ever sung, she sang it that evening. She then 
sang the Last Rose of Summer, and when the final 
cadence of that sweetest of songs had sunk into vi- 
brating silence, before high heaven, I could not keep 
all of the bed clothes on myself. I jerked my body 
into a sitting position, for when a fellow is under the 
spell of a gloriously beautiful voice, and a still more 
beautiful face, there is simply no such thing as re- 
sisting the combination. I held out my hand, and, 
catching hold of hers, said : 

“Edith, my very soul, I love you.” 

I must have gazed upon her with eyes that burned ; 
her face was crimson ; she trembled. Then gently 
withdrawing her hand, she answered: 

“You are excited, moved by impulse now. Good 
night.” 

And ere I could detain her she was gone. What 
had I done? Made a fool of myself, and driven her 
from me. I groaned aloud in agony, and with clinched 


6o 


Richard Gordon 


hand beat my breast until I thought my ribs would 
crack. As I made the avowal of my feelings her 
face was, at first, suffused with deepest blushes; yet, 
as suddenly had it changed, growing almost ghastly 
in its pallor. I had frightened, wounded her, yet, 
heaven be my witness, this was the last thing I de- 
sired to do. 

I had simply played the fool, and a sore-headed 
fool at that, in declaring a passion for this divinely 
lovable girl, before she had had time to fairly form 
my acquaintance. And yet, should I retract? No, a 
thousand times, no ! I might have acted the fool, but 
I had told the truth, and I would stand or fall by it. 

The next morning my hired man, Abner, remarked 
with a yawn : 

“I think you’ns must have et too much supper last 
night; you’ns tumbled and tossed powerful all night 
long.” 

He brought my breakfast. It had been scrupu- 
lously prepared — everything arranged so that I could 
have no difficulty in helping myself with one hand. 
But when he came back to remove the waiter the food 
had been barely touched. His comment was : 

“I ’lowed you’ns had et too hearty last night, and 
hit’s made you’ns sick. Did you’ns and Edith eat the 
same victuals? She didn’t ’pear to have no appetite 
nuther. She looked pale and puny, and just sot thar 
at the table, liftin’ up her coffee in the spoon, and 
pourin’ hit back again. You’ns will have to be keerful 
’bout what you’ns eat, for if you’ns gits sot back in 
this thing, hit mought go hard with you’ns.” 

“Abner,” said I, “I reckon you mean well, but for 
God’s sake stop talking. My head aches, and I don’t 
want to have to listen. Take the things out, and 
then go to the barn and clean out my horse’s stall.” 

“I’ve done done that more’n a hour ago.” 

“Then go out and chop wood, or do anything else 
that comes to hand. I want to be quiet.” 


Richard Gordon 


6i 


And as he went out I heard him say, “Hump ! sor- 
ter growly this mornin'.” 

Yes, I was growly. No better word could have 
been coined to describe my particular state of feeling. 
Moody, restless, irritable to a degree, I fumed, fret- 
ted and cursed myself for the insensate folly of which 
I had been guilty. Carried away by a simoon of pas- 
sion, I had permitted myself to forget that Edith 
could know nothing of me, save what she had seen 
within the preceding thirty-six hours, and that, in 
sooth, could not have been of a love-inspiring char- 
acter. My condition was doubtless calculated to in- 
generate a sense of pity, in one who had a natural 
bent that way; but an avowal of affection in so short 
a time after our chance meeting was at least open to 
suspicion as to its sincerity. Frankly, it was a piece 
of rank presumption, and diametrically opposed to 
the dictates of a calmer judgment. 

And yet, who ever had any claim to judgment, dis- 
cretion, or sense when caught in a maelstrom of pas- 
sion? It may be asserted with safety that the length, 
breadth, and thickness of the average man's devotion 
in such circumstances, are measureable only by the ex- 
tent of his folly. A sensible idea, calmly expressed, 
is, per se, proof conclusive that he is merely fooling. 
A man who is in love is a man who is the victim of 
mental as well as of heart aberration. Love is mania. 

In different natures and upon different tempera- 
ments this madness exerts different influences and as- 
sumes different phases. With some the effect is that 
of moodiness, moroseness, and melancholy ; while 
others, under its frenzied spell, would rush the draw- 
bridge of hades to attain the object of desire . Yet, 
of the two, the latter symptom is the less dangerous, 
since it expends its force in the social calaboose, while 
the former ends in the madhouse. 

Worn out with ceaseless, battling emotions, I fell 
into a deep, dreamless sleep — a sleep unbroken and 
so profound that Somnus himself might have snored 


62 


Richard Gordon 


the louder and felt absolutely sure of his hostage. 
When I awoke it was late in the afternoon. My stom- 
ach was empty, my head clear. Tapping a little call- 
bell that stood on the table nearby, Nan appeared in 
answer to my summons. 

“Nan,” said I, “where is Abner?” 

“Out to the wood-pile, sir.” 

“Will you tell him to come here?” 

“Yes-sir.” 

“Abner,” said I, as he came in, “I am as .hungry 
as a she-wolf, with ten pups.” 

“Well, sir, bitch wolves don’t have more than four 
or five pups, but I reckon they git powerful hungry 
even with them.” 

“Then I am as hungry as two she-wolves with full 
litters of whelps, and I want you to go out and see if 
you can stir up something to eat. Fetch any and ev- 
erything in the shape of food.” 

He soon returned with a well-laden salver, and, 
when I had finished, it felt considerably lighter than 
when it was first brought in. 

I had slept it off, the frenzy. Some writer has 
termed sleep the twin brother of death, while the im- 
mortal William represents it as an old woman, seated 
in the corner, plying her needles in the effort to knit 
up the frayed sleeve of care. But it has seemed to me 
that it might be more fitly compared to a closed lock 
in the dam across the river of life, checking for a 
time the on-flowing tide, flooding and deepening the 
channel, that it might the better upbear the craft on 
its bosom, which are freighted with hope, energy, and 
purpose. 

Abner came back, and, seeing from his looks that he 
was pregnant with some important matter, and fear- 
ing the consequences of compelling him to withhold 
it, I asked: “Well, Abner, what’s the matter?” 

“Nothin’ the matter with most of the family, but 
’pears like Edith is powerful upsot ’bout somethin’. 
I was down at the barn mixin’ oats and shelled corn 


Richard Gordon 


63 


for* you’ns horse, when I heard a noise in his stall, 
and lookin’ through the chinks between the logs, I 
seed her standin’ thar with her arms round the horse’s 
neck, her head ahangin’ down, sobbin’ and cryin’. 
And when I went in to give him his dinner she took 
hit away from me and said she would feed him. I 
didn’t ax no questions, but come on to the house.” 

“Then let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t 
ask her any questions, nor anybody else too many. 
A man gets along best when he attends to his own 
business.” 

“I know that, sir, and I ain’t goin’ to be meddle- 
some.” 

“Edith,” I continued, “seems fond of the horse, 
and asked me yesterday to allow her to attend to him. 
But I want you to curry and rub him, feed and give 
him water, and keep the stall in good condition. A 
foul stand will produce scratches, or mud-fever. If 
she chooses to give him his food and wants to ride 
or drive him, that’s all right; but you must saddle or 
harness him, and put him -up when she gets back.” 

“Lord, sir, Edith can hook up a horse as good as 
anybody, and ride some, too, that I wouldn’t straddle 
for nothin’. Didn’t she break that filly colt of Rube’s, 
what run away with Taz Smith and bucked him plumb 
over her head in the crick, and would have busted 
him wide open if hit hadn’t been for the water ? 
You’ns couldn’t have got nobody round here to tackle 
that filly after that. But when Edith got through 
with her, she was gentle enough for Nan to ride. 
Edith is an oncommon gal, sir, no two ways ’bout 
that.” 

I knew full well that Abner had hit the nail on the 
head this time, for I had made this discovery myself, 
but as I was still in no mood to listen to gab, I sent 
him out to cut and fetch in a supply of wood for 
night and morning. As he went out he exemplified 
the universal habit of people of his class — left the 
door open. At times this fault is annoying; at others 


6 4 


Richard Gordon 


it is not — owing to circumstances. I turned my face 
in the direction of the door, and soon heard a soft 
footfall on the porch. I was agitated, yet determined. 
It was Edith, and as she passed I called to her. She 
stopped, hesitated, then turned and came in. It was 
apparent that a great change had corne over her face 
and manner ; she was timid, shrinking, and depressed, 
and, withal, a shadow of melancholy rested weightily 
on her pale features. My heart smote me at the 
thought that I had been the cause of all this suffering 
— for suffering she had plainly endured. 

“Edith, sit down, won’t you?” I pleaded in tones 
husky with half-suppressed emotion. “I want to — I 
must talk to you. I owe it to myself and to you. I 
have realized only too fully that in what I said last 
evening I wounded, offended you. I want to explain, 
apologize, implore your forgiveness, not for the truth 
of what I did say, but for having presumed to say it 
at all. I feel that you must have suspected the pur- 
ity, the honorableness of my motives, as there had 
been so short a time since we met. But, Edith, I 
have known, from the moment I first saw you, stand- 
ing in the store, in simple, unadorned loveliness, that 
I had found my ideal — met my fate. I believe it was 
fate, destiny, that threw me into your presence, and 
shaped the accident that resulted in our subsequent 
acquaintance. If it be a fault, a crime, to love you, 
then I am the greatest of criminals, and I could atone 
for the offense only by a life of constant devotion. 
Don’t tell me that I must not love, should not adore 
you, that were an intolerable, impossible condition 
now. But do tell me, is there any other to whom your 
heart is plighted? In short, is there any reason why 
I should not love you, as an honest, sincere man may 
love a pure, noble, generous and beautiful woman?” 

She raised her eyes to mine, and said: “To your 
first question I can say, no ; the other I scarcely know 
how to answer. To reply directly would be to assume 
that I am all your fancy has painted me. I am only 


Richard Gordon 


65 


fearful you would soon realize that the coloring is 
too bold — the whole picture overdrawn; and while 
I think any woman should feel honored by a sincere 
avowal of affection from the lips of a gentleman, I 
still think the gentleman should fully and clearly un- 
derstand his own mind before he makes such a decla- 
ration. Under any other conditions the act is an in- 
sult” 

“That is wholly true, and I felt that your heart 
would lead you to regard the matter in its proper 
light,” I continued. “But there are two boons I want 
to beg of you — first, the permission to love you now, 
and always; again, if I should succeed in convincing 
you of my endless, unchangeable affection, won’t you 
promise to love me a little in return?” 

“I shall not, purposely, do anything that might 
cause you to dislike me; neither will I try to stifle the 
appeals of my heart, if I think you worthy of its hom- 
age. But if you should teach me to love you, then 
deceive, betray me. Ah, I cannot” — 

“Don’t finish that sentence, Edith. In God’s name 
leave the thought unuttered.” 

I took her hand, drew her closer, and, putting my 
arm around her neck, kissed her warm, red lips, once, 
twice, many times. 

“Edith, learn to trust, to love me, won’t you?” 

“I will try,” she said, simply; and taking my face 
betwen the palms of her hands, she stooped and vol- 
untarily pressed her lips to my throbbing brow. 

“That is my pledge, now I must go.” 

“One more promise,” I urged, detaining her. “Don’t 
forsake me, come in as you did at first.” 

“I will bring your supper this evening. Until then, 
good-by.” 

Ah, the rapture of it! The nameless, measureless 
enchantment of her glorified lips! Well, all a fellow 
can do is to sit or lie still, and feel — the less said the 
better. I shall not attempt to paint the lily. And 


66 


Richard Gordon 


what another change had come over her features ! 

Rich, radiant, carmine a-glow, 

With the up-rush of life-tide, aflood and aflow. 

A man may live as long as Methusaleh, or boast 
as many wives and concubines as Solomon, or Brig- 
ham Young, but I venture to assert that he will never 
forget the kiss of the girl he first loved. There is 
something in and about it that is like the shattered 
vase which has once held a rose — the scent of the 
flower clings to it still. 

“Wall, wall, wall,” quoth Abner, as he strode in 
with both arms full of wood. “Gals is quare critters, 
shore. I told you’ns ’bout seein’ Edith down at the 
barn, cryin’ at dinner time; and jest now she come 
atrippin’ and a skippin’ out to the woodpile and axed 
me to give her a few sticks for her grandpap’s fire. 
I looked at her face and she was so durned pretty, 
and ’peared so much like a gre’t big rose, I jest told 
her to take the whole pile, if she could tote hit, and if 
she couldn’t tote hit, I’d help her. She jest looked 
that smilin’ and happy as if she hadn’t never drapped 
a tear in her life. I ’lowed she must have got a letter 
from her feller.” 

“Who is her feller, Abner?” 

“Couldn’t tell you ’ns that — she mought have a 
dozen of ’em for all I know. But I calklated nothin’ 
else could have made her look so differ’nt in that 
time.” 

“I am glad to hear that something has brought 
about a pleasant change in her spirits,” I said, trying 
to affect an air of commonplace interest. “But while 
I think of it, I want you to hunt up an old hoe handle 
to-morrow and make a rough crutch. I believe I 
could hop about a little if I had something of that 
kind to support me, and moderate exercise will keep 
my hip from becoming set and stiff.” 

Edith fetched my supper, as she had promised, 
but, as I had so recently dined, I had little appetite for 
more, and merely made a pretense of eating. How- 


Richard Gordon 


67 


ever, as an excuse for keping her with me, I held the 
waiter between us, and insistently urged her to share 
the meal with me. As she ate her very soul seemed 
to beam from the depths of her eyes and glorify the 
native beauty of her face. Her manner was frank, 
unconstrained, and as totally free from embarrassment 
as if there had never been occasion for doubt or dis- 
tress. She ate, and evidently enjoyed the meal. 

“There, now, I’ve shown full appreciation of your 
hospitality/' she said, as the tray rested upon our 
laps, decorated with crumbs and empty china. 

As we sat and talked, I told her all about myself, 
whence I had come, and whither I had intended going, 
but added that I was now totally indifferent as to 
whether I ever got there or not, since I believed. I had 
already reached my destination. I told her that, like 
herself, I had been at an early age, bereft of my par- 
ents, and that my nearest relative was a married sis- 
ter, who resided in Louisville, Kentucky. I assured 
her that my time and my earthly effects were my own, 
but that my fate was entirely in her keeping. She 
playfully replied that she was afraid the responsibility 
was greater than her girlish hands should assume. 

“Your hands are those of a girl," I said, “but they 
are directed by a head and a heart that might reflect 
credit upon any woman. I am not afraid of my trus- 
tee." 

She sang for me again that evening, and it seemed 
to me her voice was even richer and sweeter than it 
was on the night before. The ecstatic state of my feel- 
ings might have had something to do with my esti- 
mate of her vocal powers, but certain it is that their 
melody, volume, and vibrating pathos appeared to 
grow and swell in proportion as my heart clung 
closer to her. She essayed no classic, high-art pro- 
ductions, but rendered with unexcelled beauty and 
effect such simple, sweet selections as my ear and 
taste could best understand and appreciate. 

“Edith," said I, “you told me you had never had 


68 


Richard Gordon 


any instruction in music. You don’t need any, and I 
want you to promise me that you will never permit so- 
called music teachers to tinker with your voice. They 
could not improve it; they might spoil it. It is like 
the bay-tree — at it’s best in its native state. Trans- 
planting and cultivation merely check its growth and 
dwarf it into an artificial mockery of its proper self.” 

“I have thought at times that if my support should 
ever depend upon my own efforts, it might be well to 
utilize the gifts with which nature has kindly en- 
dowed me. A good voice is often a valuable means 
of making one’s way through the world. I am by no 
means sure that I possess such a gift, although some 
people have been good enough to tell me so. My situ- 
ation, you know, is one of dependence, and Grandpa 
may not live much longer.” 

As she said this an indescribable look of sadness 
overshadowed her features. 

“It shall be entirely optional with you, Edith, as 
to whether or not it will ever become necessary for 
you to make your own support in life. The acclaim 
and plaudits of throngs are flattering to pride and 
stimulating to effort, yet examples are few in which 
these things have brought lasting comfort and happi- 
ness. Oftener, rather, have they led to misery and 
ruin. Be your own sweet, lovable self, and at least 
one man will esteem himself fortunate in being able 
to represent to you all that devotion and even idolatry 
could vouchsafe. Promise not to seek fame.” 

“I shall not adopt a public career unless circum- 
stances should render such a course necessary. Will 
that do?” 

This she said, with a slight blush and quiet smile. 
I was growing uneasy at, jealous of, the prospect; 
yet, hearing from her own lips that she was not lured 
bv the siren, ambition, but rather, was holding her 
talents in abeyance to the possible exigencies of need, 
I felt a sense of relief that I had not experienced since 
my mind was first awakened to her charms. I knew 


Richard Gordon 


69 


that I held it in my power to place her beyond the 
touch of necessity, and it should rest with her alone 
to determine whether the condition were worthy of 
her acceptance. 

“To-morrow will be my work day,” she said, ris- 
ing, “and now I must go and see if Grandpa needs 
anything before he retires. But I will come in and 
look after you whenever I am at the house.” 

Thereupon she gave me a parting salute, the pul- 
sating rapture, the clinging fragrance of which brood- 
ed as a spirit about me throughout the night. 

I was happy — at peace with the world, the flesh 
and the devil. But I could not sleep — had no desire 
to sleep, and would not have slept if I had had the in- 
clination. My last talk with Edith had afforded me 
more substantial comfort, had been more reassuring, 
than any of our previous conversations. I could not 
brook the thought of her ever going upon the stage, 
or becoming in any way the cynosure of wine-red- 
dened, sensuous eyes. The simple gaze of such an 
object would be nothing short of presumptuous insult, 
damnable profanation. The pure, the refined, I 
thought, of womankind were never intended for such 
an ordeal. 

My mind dwelt upon these and kindred thoughts 
until Abner came in, and finding me awake, he said: 

“They tell me you'ns are from Murfreesboro?” 

“Yes,” I replied. 

“I took a trip down thar about two weeks ago, with 
Zack Arnett, in a spring wagin, loaded with chinca- 
pins, chestnuts, goober-peas, popcorn, and sang (gin- 
seng), and we'ns mought have had a little mountain 
dew, but that was agin the law, so Til let that pass. 

“Arter we'ns had sold out, we'ns was a cornin' 'long 
the pike whar the big school buildin' stands. We'ns 
looked over that way and seed a whole lot of folks 
c'lected nigh the school-house. Thar was men, wom- 
en, and children — a heap of 'em. Out in the lot, 'bout 
three hundred yards off, thar was a sight I never seed 


70 


Richard Gordon 


before. There was twenty-odd sheep, some on one 
side and some on t’other, jest a buttin’ and a rammin’ 
one ’nother to beat the world. When some of ’em 
would crack t’others heads, the crowd would clap 
thar hands and holler. We’ns axed a feller, standin’ 
at the fence, what all that meant, and he ’lowed hit 
was a buck buttin’ match. Says he, 'one side turns in 
’leven rams, and then t’other side drives in ’leven, and 
they jest let ’em but it out — the side that gits the best 
of it wins.’ 

"Then we’ns axed him how they knowd which side 
whopped. 'Why,’ says he, 'they just let ’em fight till 
all of ’em is kilt but one, and whichever side be be- 
longs to takes the pot. 

"O, yes, says I, I see the pint.” And then me 
and Zack driv on.” 

"Well, Abner, I didn’t think you were such a chunk. 
What you saw was a match game of football, and 
those were school boys, dressed in white' padded 
clothes, playing out on the campus. That fellow was 
just stuffing you and Zack.” 

"I’ll be dinged! I wonder if he was givin’ us that 
sort of juice? And thar we’ns set, like two fools, a 
drinkin’ hit all in. But what razzles me is, I couldn’t 
see no ball nor feet nuther. We’ns could jest see thar 
bodies over the rise, and they looked zactly like a lot 
of buck sheep rammin’ one ’nother’s heads — and they 
was even down on all fours.” 

His face was the picture of bewilderment. 

"Well,” said I, "that is the way the game is played, 
and, upon reflection, I am not much surprised that you 
were deceived by the thing. A game of football has 
somewhat the appearance of a bunch of sheep en- 
gaged in a rough and tumble butting match.” 

"Thar’s one thing certain, if ever I see that skip- 
jack feller again that rubbed hit on us down thar, I’ll 
get even, if I have to go to the pen for hit.” 

"Abner, did you ever shave a man?” I asked, rub- 


Richard Gordon 71 

bing my face, which was now covered with a three 
days' hirsute growth. 

"I shaves myself all the time, and then I shaved a 
dead man once 

"But look here, I want you to shave a live one this 
time, and leave enough hide on to start a new crop, to 
boot. If you think you can do that, get a pan of warm 
water and begin scraping. But I lack a lot of being 
a corpse, and I don't want to become one at an early 
date, either." 

"All right, sir ; if you'ns razor is putty keen, I guess 
I can peel hit off." 

After setting the lamp in a favorable position he 
went to work, and, to my surprise, in about ten min- 
utes had my face as smooth and sleek as a peeled 
onion. I congratulated him upon the success of the 
operation, adding: 

"If things should come to such a pass with you, you 
could go to some town or city and secure employment 
as a barber, and good barbers command fair wages." 

"Mebbe so, sir, but I have alius looked on barber- 
in' as a nigger's job." 

"But that's just where you are wrong; there are 
more white men engaged in that business now than 
negroes." 

"Wall, if the fish and game all gives out in this 
country, so a feller can't make a honest livin' mebbe 
I'll have to do somethin' of that sort yit." 

“Is there much game in this neighborhood?" 

"Not so overly much, but thar's still some squir- 
rels, rabbits, coons, possums, foxes, pattages, and 
pheasants; and when a feller gits furder up yander in 
the hills he can fetch down a wild turkey, once in a 
while. And then, 'bout seven or eight mile from here, 
whar nobody don't live, deers is right plentiful, some- 
times. 

"I notice that Uncle Reuben keeps a pack of hounds. 
Are they fox or deer hounds?" 

"Both. They uster to be the best dogs in this coun- 


72 


Richard Gordon 


try, but he's gettin' too old to follow 'em now, and if 
hit wasn't for me and the other boys, they wouldn't 
git no practice 'tall. We'ns take 'em up to the moun- 
tains several times every winter, and ginerly comes 
back with enough fresh meat to last for some time." 

“When I get better of this affair I want you to or- 
ganize a good old-fashioned deer hunt; there's noth- 
ing that would suit me better." 

“All right, sir, all right. I can do that on short 
notice. The boys is alius ready for a drive like that." 
He would have been willing to start right then. 

“As you didn't have the benefit of an all-day nap 
as I did, I guess you are about ready to turn in. Put 
the lamp within reach, and I will spend an hour or two 
reading." 

He did as directed, and, having doffed his clothes, 
was snoring stronger and louder than a Berkshire 
pig in less than five minutes from the time he touched 
the bed. 


Richard Gordon 


73 


CHAPTER VI. 

Saturady dawned bright, warm, and pleasant, and 
Edith was on duty at the mill. This day will prove 
too long for my patience, I thought. I would make 
an experiment, be the cost what it might. Summoning 
Abner, I directed him to examine the cut on my head, 
and upon the strength of his assurance that “hit 
'peared to be healin' all right," I told him to fetch my 
clothes. Slowly, piece by piece, we drew them on, 
and, to my gratification, I found that the effort had 
cost me but litle pain. 

“Now, Abner, go and ask Rube's wife for a piece 
of old cloth that will be suitable for an arm-sling/' 

She did not send it, she brought it; and in other 
circumstances I might have suspected that the alacrity 
with which she produced the desired article was born 
of a purpose to speed, as much as possible, the recov- 
ery and departure of a troublesome guest. But the 
uniform kindness that had been shown me by every 
member of the household simply precluded any such 
thought. 

“Will this do?" she asked. 

“Just the thing I need. I thank you very much." 

Having adjusted my arm in the sling, I directed 
Abner to fetch me the improvised crutch, and, with 
that and the aid he gave me, I succeeded in hobbling 
out on the front porch. 

“Abner, I feel like a prince," I exclaimed. 

“Why, you'ns hain't been stove up but leetle better'n 
two days; that would jest be a good time for to rest." 

“No matter; it seems as though there had been for- 
ty-eight hours in each of those two days. I haven't 
been in bed so long since I had measles." 


74 


Richard Gordon 


“Ah, then you’ns hit me. Them measles is onery 
things. They like to have kilt me. The doctors would 
not let me have nary drop of water, and my tongue 
fairly growd to the roof of my mouth, and mammy 
had to pull hit loose with a pair of pliers. That night 
I crawled out to the spring, laid down on my belly, 
and drunk a barr'l. And the next mornin' I was 
putty nigh well. Yes, sir, hit 'peared like the doctors 
and the undertakers was playin' the same hand in them 
days." And he looked savage, as he recalled his ex- 
perience. 

I had taken a seat at the end of the porch, but from 
this position the mill was not in full view, the roof and 
upper part of the building, only, being discernible. 
However, I could distinctly hear the noise of the 
water as it poured over the dam, thence took its wind- 
ing, troubled course across the public road, and then 
became lost midst the crags and shadows of over- 
leaning hills. 

The prospect was one that might have aroused a 
feeling of enthusiasm in the breast of an artist, but I 
was never given to raving over the beauties of nature, 
especially the landscape features of nature. They al- 
ways had had about the same effect upon me as that 
produced by the sight of a well-dressed woman. I 
could fully realize that she was becomingly and taste- 
fully attired, but, to save my life, I could not analyze, 
pick her to pieces, and tell what particular thing, or 
combination of things, had produced the desired re- 
sult. I could only take in the general effect. 

But sitting there was too slow. I stood up, called 
Abner, and told him I must get out into the yard, and 
as Uncle Reuben came up about that time I had but 
litle difficulty in descending the steps. The latter ex- 
pressed surprise at the rapid strides I was making to- 
wards recovery, yet cautioned me against overdoing 
the thing. He led me round to the kennel, and mani- 
fested great interest and pride in singling out each dog 


Richard Gordon 75 

and in giving me a full description of its individual 
merits. 

“But thar," said he, “is the best of the pack/' and 
he pointed to the strangely marked bitch that I had 
noticed when Edith first drove me up to the gate. 

“She is the only female in the lot, and the mother 
of most of 'em. But she's got more sense than all the 
others put together. She never takes a back track 
nor noses a cold trail, and nothin' can't double her off 
when she takes a course. She 'pears to run by instinct 
— to'thers by smell, and she always leads the pack to 
the quarry ; but when hit's brought to bay, she stands 
back and lets t'others do the fightin'. She seems to 
know she can’t hold a full hand at that time. 

“Yes, sir, she's the child's pet, for she tuck the pup 
when hit was a leetle knotty starvelin' and raised hit 
by hand. She giv hit the name of Calico, because hit 
looked so much like a piece of spotted cotton goods. 
The bitch is ten year old, but thar aint a tooth a mis- 
sin' from her head, nor a stiff jint about her. Ah, if 
I could call back ten year, I would show you'ns a 
sight and let you'ns listen to music that mought do 
you'ns good for a lifetime. Mebbe, though I'm good 
for one more hunt yit, but I'd have to take a stand, 
and let the boys and the dogs do the beatin’ and the 
runnin' 

He sighed as he concluded this enconium. 

“Only last night I was asking Abner if we couldn't 
get up a deer hunt as son as my hurts are healed," I 
remarked. 

“Well, if you'ns are hereabouts when the snow be- 
gins to fall on the mountains, hit's likely we'ns could 
give you'ns a leetle sport in that line." 

From the kennel he led me to his hog lot, and while 
we were standing at the fence, we noticed a large black 
sow stretched on the ground, suckling a litter of ten 
pigs. I was admiring the little plump bodies as they 
rooted and tugged at their mother's teets. 

“Now," said Uncle Reuben, “just watch, and I'll 


y6 


Richard Gordon 


show you’ns somethin* that mebbe you’ns haint never 
noticed before.” And as he ceased speaking, one of 
the pigs let go its teet, and, running up to the sow’s 
mouth, rubbed its nose against her snout, making a 
peculiar little grunting noise as it did so. 

“Thar, that’s the pig's way of tellin’ the sow they 
have had enough, and of thankin’ her for the treat, 
for you’ns see she is gettin’ up. The next time they 
suck some other pig will do that, and they’ll take hit 
turn about until they git through the whole litter, then 
they’ll commence over again.” 

“Well, that’s remarkable,” I said. 

' “Yes, some folks contend that beasts is beasts; but 
my notion is that most of ’em have got more sense 
and better manners than half the people. Leastwise, 
them little pigs could teach lots of children a lesson in 
gratitude.” 

From our present position the mill was in plain 
view, and I could see Edith passing the window, as 
she went about her work. I was seized with an irre- 
sistible desire to go there, and told Abner I was de- 
termined to make the attempt. 

“I am feared you’ns can’t make hit,” he protested. 

“Yes, I can. It’s only about two hundred yards, 
and I’ll stop to rest on the way.” 

“Then, wait a minute, I’ll fix you’ns,” and off he 
trotted to the woodpile, returning at once with a stout 
wheel-barrow. 

“Now, sir, git in this kerrage, and I’ll drive you’ns 
down thar directly. 

Struck with the thought of the supremely ridicu- 
lous figure I would cut rolling up to the mill in that 
sort of a locomotive, I demurred strongly, telling Ab- 
ner I preferred to walk, or hop. 

“No, sir, no; git right in, and I’ll shoot you’ns 
down in a jiffy.” 

“But, Abner, you forget that, while rolling a fellow 
down hill may be easy enough, coming back will be 
the rub,” I still held back. 


Richard Gordon 


77 


"That's all right, then I'll stop and rest. Git in." 

Uncle Reuben, who stood near, vainly endeavoring 
to conceal his amusement, joined Abner in his insist- 
ence, saying that we two could go, while he went off 
to look after other matters. I wanted to go, but 
doubted my ability to walk there and return, so I set- 
tled myself in this primitive one-wheel vehicle, and, 
like the man of Mother Goose fame, who went to 
London to get him a wife, made my first trip to the 
mill in a wheel-barrow. 

Though laughing at every step of my human pro- 
peller, and shaking with every revolution of the wheel, 
I still was uneasy lest Abner should dump me on the 
ground. But we arrived, and when we put on breaks 
and stopped at the platform in front of the door, Ed- 
ith's face was a picture. Her features were in a spasm 
of uncontrollable laughter, mingled with astonish- 
ment, and covered all over with pulverulent meal. 
She may have had the laugh on me in the matter of 
locomotion, yet I could not help feeling' that I had 
some advantage on the score of complexion. And 
for several minutes we stood there giggling at each 
other like two children. 

But the most ludicrous thing will pall in time. I 
then disembarked and hobbled into the house. As I 
went in she took me by the hand, and led me back to 
the grinding apparatus, then stopped, held up her 
hands and exclaimed: 

"There now ! Just behold what you've done. While 
I stood out there admiring your Pushman Palace car 
the meal overran the measure, and spilled on the 
floor." And she burst into another fit of laughter that 
came very near causing her to upset the tub. 

"Come here, Abner, quick !" I cried. "Take up that 
measure and empty the meal into this sack, while we 
hold it open." 

When this was done the damage was soon repaired, 
and the work of grinding went merrily on. 


78 


Richard Gordon 


“I see that your mill doesn’t countenance any non- 
sense,” I remarked. 

“No, if I leave my post it is sure to make double 
work for me when I get back. It is like time and tide, 
it won’t wait. But how long have you been up ? Don’t 
you feel fatigued?” 

“Just a little so, and I am going to sit on these 
sacks of corn and watch you ; I might want to become 
a miller myself some day.” 

“You ought to remember your first lesson, at all 
events.” This, with another outburst of laughter. 

Inasmuch as conversation in a mill that is in opera- 
tion is by no means the pleasantest of occupations, I 
contented myself with reclining on the corn sacks and 
watching, Edith at work. At intervals of ten or fif- 
teen minutes, men, boys, and even girls came with 
“turns” to be ground. This constant arrival of cus- 
tomers kept her at her post, and I wondered if she did 
not grow tired of the drudgery. But if she did, she 
gave no sign of weariness, but worked, rather, with 
increasing activity as the time passed. Owing to the 
convenient construction and arrangement of things, 
it was not necessary that she should do any heavy 
lifting. The men and boys fetched in their own 
sacks of corn, and after the toll had been taken out they 
poured the grain into the hopper. 

Abner made himself useful by bringing in the turns 
for the children who were too small to lift their loads 
themselves. But in several instances he resorted to a 
contrivance that I had never seen before, nor, indeed, 
have I ever seen a similar one since. 

About five feet above the front platform and ex- 
tending back to the hopper, there was an elevated 
truck, the wheels of which passed along in grooves 
that ran the full length of two parallel pieces of pine 
lumber. Underneath this, and suspended by two iron 
rods, was a small platform, about three feet in length 
and two feet in width. 


Richard Gordon 


79 


The two long pieces of lumber worked upon a kind 
of axo-fulcrum, after the manner of a see-saw, and 
either end could be raised or lowered at will. When 
one end of this railway was elevated the truck would 
run out to the other, so that when a child rode up 
with a turn of corn, it had nothing to do but slip the 
sack off the horse's back onto the carriage, while 
Edith at the other end placed her foot on a treadle, 
where her weight, causing the outer end to rise, 
brought the truck immediately over the hopper. There 
was nothing for her to do but untie the sack, let 
out the corn, and the mill-stones did the rest. Con- 
versely, when the meal was ready, she filled the sack 
by means of a scoop, then directing the child to stand 
on a weight at the front, she sent the truck back in 
the same manner. 

After I had seen this contrivance in operation, I was 
greatly impressed with the ingenuity displayed in its 
construction, and asked Edith to whom belonged the 
credit of its invention. 

“I planned it and Uncle Reuben made it," she re- 
plied. “If it were not for that I could not run the 
mill, since by this means I am relieved of all lifting." 

“It is certainly the most convenient attachment I 
have ever seen," I said, struck with the scope and va- 
riety of her resources. 

For the next few minutes there was a sort of sus- 
pension in the work of grinding, and Edith came over 
and sat beside me on the sacks. 

“This is what is termed an under-shot mill, and the 
water, passing through the fore-bay, strikes the lower 
rim of the wheel, causing an upward, or reverse revo- 
lution. For this reason it is a little more easily oper- 
ated than if it were an over-shot one. As it is, I can 
turn on or shut off the water by simply raising or low- 
ering that gate," and she pointed to a perpendicular 
wooden rod, which resembled the handle of a large 
spoon, or paddle. 


8o 


Richard Gordon 


“What are the essential points of difference between 
an over-shot and an under-shot mill?” I asked, desir- 
ing to learn it all. 

“An over-shot mill is one that is operated by the 
water falling on top of the large wheel, causing a 
downward motion; and in order to get the water up 
there, it is necessary to build the dam some distance 
above the mill itself, and conduct the current down 
through a channel made of plank, which is called the 
race. 

“This is, as I have said, an under-shot mill, and, 
the dam being immediately at the building, the water 
passes through a sluice, striking the wheel from be- 
low. The principles are nearly the same, but the con- 
struction of the dam and the point of water power are 
different.” 

She then conducted me through the building, point- 
ing out and explaining each particular feature. She 
was as perfectly familiar with every detail as though 
it had been an old-fashioned spinning wheel. Indeed, 
there seemed to be no attachment, whether of conve- 
nience or necessity, that she did not fully understand 
and control. 

“Now, Abner, please shut off the water; it's about 
noon, and we'll go to the house. You can push Mr. 
Gordon up in his private motor car, while I go ahead 
and clear the track.” 

Thereupon she took off the white tulle cap which 
she wore to keep the meal dust out of her hair, and 
after wiping her face, arms and hands with a dry 
cloth, said: 

“Now, I'm ready — all aboard !” 

As we stood on the platform, jesting about the 
wheelbarrow, a man rode up on horseback perched 
on a sack of corn in lieu of a saddle. I was at once 
impressed with the surly, hanging-dog appearance of 
his dark face. 

“I want my turn ground,” he said. 


Richard Gordon 


8i 


“You will either have to wait until I come back from 
the house, or take meal that I have already ground in 
exchange for your corn,” was Edith’s reply. 

“I want the meal from my own corn,” he insisted, 
with an insolent manner. 

I could see that he was under the influence of 
whiskey. 

“Then you must wait, or go to some other mill,” 
Edith rejoined. 

“This is a damned pore scuse for a mill, if a man 
can’t git his corn ground,” said the fellow, growing 
more insulting. 

“I think you have taken a good turn of distilled 
corn in exchange for your stock of civility,” said she. 

“I think you are a damned stuck up .” 

He did not finish the sentence, for, converting my 
crutch into a club, I dealt him a blow on the back that 
came near felling him to the ground. He had ducked 
to save his head, but, as it was, my crutch was broken 
by the force of the lick. 

“Now, go, you drunken dog,” I thundered, ablaze 
with anger. 

“I will — but I’ll git even, and don’t you forgit that.” 

And with this parting threat, he spurred his horse 
and rode off. 

“Abner, who is that beast?” I asked. 

“I don’t know his sho ’nough name, but he calls 
hisself Brum Legore.” 

“Where does he live?” 

“Jest under his hat, mostly; but he’s got a log pen 
’bout three mile from here at the foot of the mountain, 
whar he giner’ly makes his headquarters. You’ns will 
have to keep you’ns eyes peeled from this on, or he’ll 
git the drap on you’ns and plug you’ns in the back. 
He’s a bad aig.” 

“I am obliged to you for the warning, and will try 
to take care of Number One as against Mr. Legore.” 

“This is the second visit he has paid me as miller, 
and the first time he was so insolent and offensive, I 


82 


Richard Gordon 


resolved never to grind another grain for him — and I 
will not.” 

Edith made this declaration with an emphasis that 
left no doubt as to her meaning. 

“I regret, however, the occasion for losing my tem- 
per. I am always penitent after a quarrel,” she said. 

“I like that spirit,” I replied. “One should quarrel 
and even fight like killing snakes while the provocation 
lasts; then, if you get the better of the other fellow, 
beg his pardon like a man. If there are two gentle- 
men in the row, one will never have to fight that fel- 
low again.” 

There are times when anger acts upon one as a lu- 
bricant, and after my tilt with Legore I felt equal to 
a walk of a mile or more , if it had been necessary. So 
I discarded the wheelbarrow, and, converting my 
broken crutch into a staff, hobbled up the hill with 
an alacrity that surprised me. The stimulus of pas- 
sion, however, is similar to that produced by intoxi- 
cants — subject to reaction; and by the time I had 
reached the dwelling I was almost upon the verge of 
a down-break. I had nearly overdone the thing, and 
sought my couch as I would have gone for comfort to 
an old friend. 

I had never been an habitual user of intoxicants, but 
I found that, at this juncture, my bottle of Old Rye 
came in, ex necessitate. And I have also learned that 
necessity is the mother, not only of invention, but of 
circumvention, as well. So, fearing that Edith might 
have ground for skepticism on the score of my sobrie- 
ty, I impressed Abner into the office of bartender, tak- 
ing the beverage straight. But my ruse was not an 
eminent success; for, among the many marvelous at- 
tributes of womankind there stands, pre-eminent, their 
abnormal sense of smell. Edith came in, and I knew 
she had detected the odor of whiskey as soon as she 
reached the door. Her face was an open book of 
raised letters ; and my conscience, requiring no further 
accuser, impelled a confession. 


Richard Gordon 83 

“Edith, I felt so much fatigued when I came in, I 
took a toddy.” 

“No, you didn’t take a toddy, for you took it with- 
out sugar or water — you took it so/ 

She sat at the bedside, looking into my face with 
her dark, appealing eyes, and, in a tone I shall never 
forget, said: 

“Richard, you struck a blow for me today, now let 
me strike one for you.” 

“Then strike, my angel, and use a sledge,” I ex- 
claimed. 

“Let me give you all the whiskey you drink.” 

“Without reservation, I make you that promise — - 
take the bottle.” 

I was overwhelmed by a flood of confused feelings, 
which I did not at once attempt to analyze. 

“No, I do not want it — now have your dinner. I 
feel that I can enjoy mine.” 

She stooped and kissed my face. A single tear' fell 
and rested on my brow — and if it had been the mark 
of Cain I should have made no move to brush it 
away. 

She had given me a temperance lecture in one sen- 
tence, and my calls for whiskey in subsequent years 
have been markedly infrequent. Reproaches are oft- 
times worse than vain, but the man who can plug his 
ears to the quivering appeals of the woman he has 
once loved, and whom he knows still loves him, is a 
travesty on his kind, and a fit lord for a Bengal tig- 
ress. 

I did not attempt to make another trip to the mill 
that day, but, being apprehensive that the fellow, Le- 
gore, might arm himself and come back to get even, 
I sent Abner down to act in the dual capacity of 
helper and protector. I felt uneasy and restless, so 
much so, in fact, I could not remain in my room ; and, 
without other support than the broken crutch, which 
I used as a walking-staff, I went out to the fence. 
Taking a seat on the stile, I watched each succeeding 


8 4 


Richard Gordon 


customer with closest scrutiny. I remembered that 
Legore had ridden an old clay-bank horse, with black 
mane and tail ; and as I sat there, hour after hour, 
watching, blacks, bays, grays, and sorrels came, bring- 
ing riders on turns of grist; but the clay-bank, to my 
relief, did not reappear. 

Reassured on that score, I began to revive the im- 
pressions I had received while lounging on the corn- 
sacks in the forenoon. I had observed that whenever 
a customer proved to be a prosperous-looking man or 
a strapping boy, Edith would use her gallon measure 
and deduct the lawful one-eighth toll. But if it hap- . 
pened to be a poor, ragged child, whether girl or boy, 
she would pour the entire quantity into the hopper, 
and return meal therefor, without taking out so much 
as a grain. And as a large proportion of her custom- 
ers were of the latter class, it, of course, followed 
that an equal percentage of her time and labor was 
devoted to pure charity. 

There, then, was Edith, working as a man in a 
dusty grist mill the greater part of two days out of 
each week, in order that the poor of the community 
might be supplied with bread. And as I thought of 
her physical beauty, her mental culture, and, above 
all, of her unselfish nobility of heart, I could not help 
exclaiming — How incongruous the occupation ! 

At first I found myself wondering why she did not 
undergo an examination and seek a position as teacher 
in some public school. And yet I had seen enough of 
Edith to learn that her methods of doing things were 
radically different from those of others, even of her 
own sex. I could easily believe that her temperament 
was illy suited to the routine drudgery of school-room 
work. She was calm, collected, and generally self- 
possessed to a degree, and yet I am convinced that the 
life of a school teacher would have killed her. It 
would have been like putting a partridge pullet in a 
pen of wire netting. She might live, but certainly 
could not thrive. 


Richard Gordon 


85 

In her soul there was a strange blending of restful 
placidity and of mercurial impulse. I had often seen 
her joyous; sometimes depressed; angry, once; but 
ever just, generous, and true. Always ready to yield 
to kindly persuasion, there yet were elements in her 
make-up which eminently fitted her to lead, to control. 
And while affectionate, devoted, and tender, she im- 
pressed me as being absolutely without fear. 

I sat on the stile or limped about the yard, until 
sunset, when I saw Edith come to the door of the mill, 
with cap off and wiping her hands and face prepara- 
tory to leaving. Just at that time I saw Zeb seated on 
a wagonload of corn, which was drawn by a yoke of 
oxen. They were coming towards the barn, while 
Rube and a hired man followed on foot. When Edith 
saw them she locked the mill door, and, running out, 
mounted the wagon, took the single line, and drove 
the team up to the corn-crib in the barn lot. No 
sooner had the team stopped than she leaped off the 
wagon, ran up to the lead ox and patted him on the 
neck ; then, to my amazement, she sprang upon his 
back, sidewise, where she sat for a few minutes, clap- 
ping her hands at me. I could not resist the tempta- 
tion, but went down to meet her. 

“Well,” said I, “I have seen a good many notable 
things, even in my short career; but this is the first 
time I ever saw an angel on an ox.” 

“No; and you haven’t seen one there yet. But what 
you did see was a hoiden in the exact position where 
dignity would have said she had no business to be.” 

“Dignity to the winds ! I hate a prude,” I said. 

“Then I’m sure I could never incur your displeas- 
ure on that account.” 

“No; nor on any other.” 

“Oh, you don’t know me yet. I am like an ox, 
sometimes — very willful and stubborn.” 

“Are oxen very willful?” 

“Indeed they are. I was riding Berry one hot day 
last summer, when he took a notion he wanted a 


86 


Richard Gordon 


drink; so he ran right into the creek with me, and I 
went over his head. That was the worst ducking I 
ever got. Yet I am very fond of Buck and Berry — 
they are so faithful, enduring, and patient, except 
when they are thirsty. But why have you spent the 
afternoon out on the stile? Were you afraid that 
drunken fellow would come back and insult me?” 

“To be candid, I was.” 

“You need not have been uneasy. I keep a little 
target rifle at the mill, and amuse myself, at times, 
shooting turtles. If it should ever become necessary 
I would protect myself.” 

“Edith, I don’t believe you are afraid of anything 
that breathes.” 

“Oh, yes, I am. A mouse could chase me off the 
place.” 

“Aren’t there lots of mice in the mill?” 

“Yes, but whenever they come out, I jump up on 
the hopper.” 

And her spirits were as buoyant as if she had not 
been on her feet all day, supplying the wants of a 
hungry public. Abner was right when he said, “Edith 
is an oncommon girl.” 

I had promised to write my uncle upon my arrival 
at Mr. Graham’s, in order to keep him informed as to 
the progress I had made. Yet four days had passed 
and I had not written him a line. I felt that he must 
think strangely of my apparent indifference, and re- 
solved to redeem my promise by giving him an ac- 
count of the accident, and of my consequent inability 
to write at an earlier date. 

In writing I told him, not only what had befallen 
me in the nature of injuries, but the name of the man 
at whose home I had been nursed and entertained. I 
dwelt at length upon the great kindness that had been 
shown me by Uncle Reuben himself, as well as by the 
several members of his household. But the particular 
feature of Edith’s goodness, and its effect upon my 
feelings, I discreetly kept to myself, since I regarded 


Richard Gordon 


87 


that as a matter with which an ex-guardian, though 
a close relative and valued friend, had no concern, at 
least for the present. 

I told him I was satisfied my host would decline 
compensation in dollars and cents for what he and his 
had done for me ; and yet I could not afford to permit 
such disinterested generosity to go unrewarded. My 
perplexity, I said, was of such a character as to war- 
rant me in asking him to suggest a solution of the 
dilemma. I did this, however, more as a mark of 
deference to his greater age and riper judgment than 
from any sincere purpose to adopt a plan which might 
be at variance with my own fixed notions. 

I had been so upset by the accident, and fascinated 
by Edith, I had scarcely given a thought to business 
matters of any kind. Indeed, the rational conduct of 
business, and the irrational pursuit of passion, are 
divergent, if not positively antagonistic, avocations. 
The effort to compound the two is more than apt to 
end in the same manner as an attempt to mix unadul- 
terated oil and pure water — the lighter element being 
sure to come to the top, leaving a line of demarkation 
between itself and its spurned associate. And I was, 
at this time, serenely floating upon the surface of the 
less weighty of the two elements. 

But I finished my letter, sealed, and directed it. 


88 


Richard Gordon 


CHAPTER VII. 

Sunday. — I was entering upon my first Sabbath day 
in the hills. I wondered how I should get through it. 
My supply of reading matter was woefully limited — 
limited, in fact, to the two daily papers, which Edith 
had so considerately brought me on the preceding 
Thursday, and I had even read all the catch-penny ad- 
vertisements in them. And yet I am not wholly sure 
that I could have read with much satisfaction or profit, 
if I had had a Carnegie library to select from. An ef- 
fort to read while one's thoughts are rambling through 
and over hills, vales, fields, and grist mills is very apt 
to be time worse than wasted; and I felt quite sure 
that my mind would fall under the charge of vagrancy 
should I essay to pass the hours in that way. 

I was sitting near the front window, with my eyes 
closed and my head resting on my hand, when Edith 
stole quietly up, and, thrusting in her arm, caught me 
by the ear, saying: 

“A penny for your thoughts." 

“Well,” said I, startled by the act, “I should close 
the deal with you at once, if it were not for fear you 
would rue the bargain, even at that price. A bit of 
Chinese cash would come nearer representing the 
market value of my meditations. And, besides, I al- 
ways hated the idea of having a dissatisfied customer.” 

“Richard Gordon, you are a rogue.” 

And she gave my attenuated organ of hearing an- 
other tweak. 

“Yes, Edith, that is a well-founded indictment — I 
am a diamond thief ; and I have been trying for the 
past two or three days to steal the heart of the sweet- 
est, dearest, and best girl on earth.” 


Richard Gordon 


89 


“Pshaw ! You are a monstrous flatterer. Yet, if 
you should succeed in your burglarious designs, how 
do you know that it would not prove to be paste, after 
all ?” 

She was leaning on the window-sill, her shapely 
hands dangling inside the room. I put my arm around 
her neck, drew her face down, and kissed her. 

“My love, I am not a lapidist; yet I know the jewel 
I seek is not paste, for the simple reason that no spur- 
ious gem ever had the steely, true-blue, scintillant 
gleam that yours has. But even if it were paste, I 
would take it with the hope that it might cling the 
closer, and prove a fitter companion for my own 
heart/' 

“Then take it, Richard, for what it is worth, and do 
with it as you will.” 

She caught my hand in both of hers, pressed it 
spasmodically, and fled. 

Books? Libraries? The devil ! Who ever had any 
use for books, anyway? And Sunday was beginning 
under very fair auspices, after all. 

“Mr. Gordon,” said Abner, who was conveniently 
absent at the time of the above-described episode, 
“this is Sunday” — 

“Yes; I was apprised of the fact.” 

“But what I was goin' to say is this : The folks in 
giner'l here'bouts goes to meetin' in the mornin', and 
then goes visitin' in the evenin'. Uncle Reuben has 
got son-in-laws, darters, grandchildren, gre’t grand- 
childern, and gre’t, gre't grandchildern ascattered all 
over this here country. They all comes to meetin’ in 
the mornin' for to hear preachin', fetchin' thar lunch- 
es 'long with 'em ; then all hands comes up here to see 
how he's gettin' on. When they all git here, hit don't 
'pear like thar is much room for more. The house 
and the yard gits plumb full of 'em ; and if you'ns 
don’t care, I'll help spruce you'ns up, give you'ns a 
good bath, put on you'ns clean clothes, brush you’ns 
shoes, and fix you'ns out spankin' this mornin', and 


9 o 


Richard Gordon 


then I’ll take to the woods, or somewhars else, to git 
away from the crowd.” 

“God! couldn’t you take me with you? I’m none 
too fond of mobs or mass-meetings myself.” 

I was fairly aghast at the picture Abner had drawn. 

“I don’t reckon hit would hardly do for both of us 
to light out to keep from meetin’ Uncle Reuben’s fam- 
ily. He mought think hard of you’ns, anyway.” 

“You are right, Abner; that would not be treating 
him with proper courtesy and respect. I would not 
wound his feelings for the world, after the kindness 
he has shown me. I’ll stay and tough it out, even 
though they be as numerous as the hosts of Senna- 
cherib, or the sands of the sea.” 

“I ’lowed you’ns wouldn’t turn tail and scoot when 
you’ns got to thinkin’ ’bout hit.” 

“No; it wouldn’t do. Get a tub, some warm water 
and soap, and let’s go to work,” I said, with resig- 
nation. 

“I don’t know whether I can find anything but lye 
soap,” he answered, apologetically. 

“Then fetch that; the stronger the soap the better. 
I want to get rid of this darned horse liniment smell, 
anyway and nothing else will do the job — and if you 
can get hold of a piece of asafoetida, somehow, you 
may bring that along, too, and I’ll use it as a kind of 
counter stench.” 

But fearing Abner might take me literally, as to 
the last item, I called him back, and told him he might 
leave off the asafoetida, and fetch the other things. 

“I was jest wonderin’ what you’ns wanted with as- 
feddy, onless you’ns was ’feard of ketchin’ some dis- 
ease from all them children.” 

Thereupon he went out for what I wanted. 

I knew I should have taken the conventional Sat- 
urday night scrubbing; but I felt tired and lazy after 
my first day’s outing. And besides, if cleanliness were 
next to godliness, I concluded to pin my faith, for the 
nonce, to lye soap and warm water, trusting in their 


Richard Gordon 


9i 


efficacy for an unction of grace. The Sunday morning 
bath may not be altogther orthodox, yet if one feels 
in his pelt that there is urgent need of ablution, I 
should think a copious application of suitable elements 
would, even then, be sanctioned by the goddess Hv- 
giea. Lye soap and clear water are very reliable dis- 
infectants, whether administered on Saturday or Sun- 
day — the holier the day, the godlier the deed. 

When Abner had concluded this interesting opera- 
tion, I realized that there had been considerable activ- 
ity in the line of real state and a consequent, a cor- 
responding, depreciation in my own avoirdupois. 

Yet I felt amply compensated by the assurance that 
I had risen at least twenty-five per cent, in the scale 
of self-respect. 

Well, he spruced me up, and I even got rid of the 
horse liniment smell, without the aid of asafoetida. 
He bedecked me in fresh, clean raiment, polished my 
shoes, and, to cap it all, was about to part my hail in 
the middle. But there I kicked. 

“Stop, Abner; get a little farther to the left. I 
haven't got a darned bit of use for a fellow that parts 
his name in the middle, or his hair on a line with his 
nose." 

“Scuse me, sir; but I was jest tryin' to dodge the 
slit on you'ns head, and I had to go plumb to the top 
to do that." 

“Then part it on the other side, and let's take a 
rest." 

Rube, Zeb, and Nan were the only representatives 
from the immediate family circle at meeting that 
morning, Edith and Aunt Molly being kept at home, 
busily engaged in preparing nick-nacks and side-table 
dishes for the expected juvenile invasion of the after- 
noon. I took dinner with the remaining members of 
the household in the dining room, and, as I entered, 
was brought to a full realization of what I might ex- 
pect, as to numbers and eating capacity, by the array 
of things that had been set aside for the host of grand- 


9 2 


Richard Gordon 


children, great grandchildren, and great, great grand- 
children. There were bushel baskets of luscious-look- 
ing apples, puddings and tarts, ad infinitum; and a 
towering pyramid, which was built, not like Soly- 
man’s, of human bones, but of rich, brown ginger- 
cakes. 

After dinner Edith came up and remarked: 

“You must be impressed with the idea that we are 
prepared for a house party,” referring to the side- 
tables. 

“Judging from the abundance of good things, I 
should say you were prepared, not only for a house 
party, but for a yard party as well.” 

“Yes, but the remains of all these will have a lone- 
some, melancholy aspect in two or three hours from 
this time.” And she laughed heartily at the antici- 
pated incursion. 

Promptly at 1 130 o’clock the vanguard of the cru- 
sade hove in sight, and for the next half hour there 
was a ceaseless tide of people pouring into the yard, 
and, as far as possible, into the house. The old white- 
haired patriarch stood on the porch and shook hands 
with each one, as the squads arrived. There were 
men, women, and children of all sizes, ages, and con- 
ditions. The whole seven ages of man were repre- 
sented ; from the red-faced infant, “mewling and puk- 
ing in the (mother’s) arms,” and rolling in dimpled 
flesh and diapers, to senile, toothless age, gumming 
quids of home-grown tobacco. There were children, 
whose faces were liberally besmeared with sorghum 
candy ; youths and maidens who had reached the stage 
of coyness, awkwardness, and pimples ; and there were 
young wives, whose loose-fitting gowns and unobtru- 
sive manners argued the possession of poetical temper- 
aments ; for, with them, “coming events cast their 
shadows before,” and clearly showed that the end of 
this thing was not even yet. 


Richard Gordon 


93 


“Christ!” I exclaimed, as I sat unseen, but watch- 
ing this moving, chattering concourse of variegated 
progemy; “surely these good people are behind the 
times, and cannot have heard that there is such a thing 
as race-suicide ” 

A description of the confusion at Babel would be 
about as intelligible as an attempt to tell what all, or 
any of them were saying. The babes were squalling, 
the chaps yelping, and the older ones were all talking 
at the same time, yet in different keys. 

But for all that, I could not repress the thought 
that Uncle Reuben must experience an inflation of 
pride, as he calmly surveyed the throng, and remem- 
bered that it could justly look up to him as its source 
and fountain-head. He had evidently tried to dis- 
charge his whole duty, under scriptural teachings ; 
and, if it had not been for the war, God only might 
surmise as to what would have been the result. 

Edith came in, and, taking me by the arm, said : 

“Come, let me present you to my relatives.” 

“All of them?” I asked, with an appealing look. 

“No; only to some of the representative ones.” 
And she shook with merriment. 

Finding that protest would be vain, I rose and 
limped out on the porch, and the work of introduc- 
tion began. I tried to render myself as agreeable as 
possible. I talked with the men about the condition 
of fall crops, patted the babies on the cheeks, remark- 
ing, incidentally, that they resembled their mothers. 
I kissed the little girls, twitched the boys’ ears, and 
told them they were the hope of the country. I could 
see that Uncle Reuben appreciated the part I was 
taking in his soiree; and Edith had the grace to tell 
me afterwards that I had succeeded in making a good 
impression. 

But all the while I was talking, smiling, and shak- 
ing hands the phrase, “race suicide,” kept running 
through my head. I could not fully grasp its meaning, 
and finally decided that the disease, like most epidem- 


94 


Richard Gordon 


ics, must be confined to the cities. I looked about me 
carefully, but could not detect any symptoms of the 
scourge in that assemblage, at all events. So I reached 
the conclusion that there must be something in the 
pure air of the hills, the crystal free-stone water, to- 
gether with a diet of chincapins, beechnuts, chestnuts, 
and other varieties of mast, that had exerted some 
bearing upon the matter, and accounted, in a measure, 
for the difference in domestic conditions. And the 
conviction was irresistibly forced upon me that there 
are some people in certain sections of our country who 
are blissfully benighted as to what is transpiring in 
other communities. 

“Are you insufferably bored, Richard ?" asked 
Edith, as she elbowed her way through the munching 
host of youngsters, that had by this time been turned 
loose on the good things, and which was now both 
tooth and tongue-bent on the work of devastation. 

“Not in the least; on the contrary it is one of the 
most interesting scenes I have ever witnessed. Just 
behold that little fellow with the lower part of his 
face buried in a half-moon pie. Wouldn't you call 
that Paradise Personified?" 

“Well," she answered, “it's stewed apples and pas- 
try becoming rapidly incorporated, at all events." 

And the little fellow never knew that we had the 
laugh on him; nor would he have cared a continental 
if he had known it. 

A collection of children is a curious, instructive 
spectacle. When toothsome things are to be had even 
without the asking, some will hold back, balanced, 
like a gander, on one foot, waiting to be coaxed into 
eating, while others can with difficulty be kept off the 
table by means of threats, kicks, and cuffs. They ex- 
emplify and illustrate even at this age the difference 
between men and women of riper years. Push, per- 
severance, and “cheek" are ever in the van, reaching 
out for the best in sight. They may get a whack, on 
occasion, but they gird up their loins and come again ; 


Richard Gordon 


95 


and before the frolic is over, they are apt to have 
something to show that they have been there. But if 
the diffident, modest fellow ever succeeds in acquir- 
ing anything, it is apt to be of the post-mortem sort — 
a euphonious epitaph. 

As the sun showed symptoms of weariness, and 
began to droop, the several mothers, like hens, busied 
themselves collecting Itheir respective broods, and, 
after all manner of adieux, good-byes, farewells, or 
be-good-to-yourselves, etc., had been exchanged, the 
multitude commenced to disperse ; and in about fifteen 
minutes the last lingering laggard of the rearguard 
could be seen wending his way across the hills, home- 
ward. 

The ordeal was passed; the day almost done; and, 
to quote Abner's classic idiom, I had not turned tail 
and scooted. 

'Well, sir, I hope you'ns haint been too much pes- 
tered by the leetle family getherin' we'ns had this 
evenin',” remarked Uncle Reuben, addressing me. 

“I have not been annoyed in the least, I can assure 
you. In fact, I think I derived as much pleasure 
from the occasion as any member of the party.” 

This was a lie, of course, but politeness mothered 
it, and I did not know what else to say. 

“I was sorry to see that Mary Anne and her ten 
children couldn't git here, on account of some sick- 
ness in the family. Then thar was five of Liza Jane's 
children that had whoopin' cough, and she was afeard 
to fetch 'em out. So we'ns didn't have a full meetin' 
this time.” And the old man's face looked sorrowful, 
as he thought of the absent ones. 

Ye gods, and small fishes! Fifteen more children 
and two mothers that might have been present but for 
sickness! I expressed regret, however, that I had 
been denied the pleasure of meeting those who were 
necessarily absent, and congratulated him upon be- 
ing the progenitor of such a numerous, well-behaved, 
and prosperous-looking family. 


9 6 


Richard Gordon 


“Yes, sir, I am proud to be able to say that nuther 
the penitentiary, the jail, nor the poor-house has ever 
ketched one of my blood. They alius has worked 
for a livin’, and ’tends to thar own business. I made 
that a rule for to guide me when I was young, and I 
tried to larn hit to them. If any of ’em ever goes 
wrong, hit won’t be becase they didn’t know better.” 

“I am sure your teaching and good example have 
not been wasted,” I ventured, “for I never saw a more 
orderly assemblage of young people.” 

The truth was, however, I had seen one father go 
behind the house and flog his ten-year-old boy for 
clawing about one-half of the skin off a smaller cous- 
in’s face; another chap carried home a pair of black 
eyes; while a third fellow went skulking out of the 
yard with blood on his best shirt, as the result of a 
lick on the head with a rock. 

But then, it would be unreasonable, and wholly con- 
trary to established precedent, to expect such a con- 
vention as that to adjourn without some casualties. 
And I had no doubt in my own mind that other ac- 
cidents of a similar character had occurred during 
the progress of the meeting, but of which there had 
been no official report, there being a growing ten- 
dency to suppress such things. 

“Now, just come with me — I want to show you 
something,” said Edith, drawing me in the direction 
of the “banquet hall deserted,” from which the light 
had not wholly fled, but whence about everything edi- 
ble had completely vanished. 

“What do you think of it now?” 

“Well,” said I, amused and amazed, “the only per- 
tinent parallel I could draw would be a comparison 
betwen this scene and that presented by a straggling 
Western town that had been visited by an able-bodied 
tornado. The sole difference would be that, in this 
case, some of the plates and dishes are left whole; 
whereas, in the other, even the ground would have dis- 
appeared.” 


Richard Gordon 


97 


“It is a wreck, to be sure. But can’t children eat?” 

And she regarded me with open-eyed bewilder- 
ment. 

“Eat? That word doesn’t convey the slightest idea, 
the faintest conception, of the real performance. They 
reminded me of that mill of yours down there. If 
the grist isn’t poured in tOo rapidly, they will grind 
just as long as the wheel turns.” 

“Yes; I watched some of them as they ate, and was 
actually alarmed lest their wheels should get clogged, 
and throw the entire machinery out of gear, for they 
stuffed and gorged until they were blue in the face. 
But they didn’t; and in a few minutes they looked as 
if they hadn’t had one bite. It is simply astonishing.” 

“But,” said I, exhibiting my feeling of compassion, 
“is this a regular weekly occurrence?” 

“No; I am glad to say it is not always quite so bad 
as that; for, during the winter months they can’t all 
get here. But in spring, summer, and fall they make 
up for lost time — and other things.” 

“Then, if I were in your place I should emigrate; 
for, while they lend willing hands and mouths to pile 
up wreckage, they don’t stay and help remove the 
debris ” 

“That’s true ; but it reminds me that all this must be 
cleared away.” 

We thereupon went to work, and, with the aid of 
Aunt Molly, Zeb, and Nan, soon brought something 
resembling order out of the general chaotic confusion. 
I could not be of much assistance, since I had but 
one hand with which to work. Yet I could reflect, 
and the more I reflected, the fuller of astonishment I 
became at the extraordinary storage capacity of a 
horde of human youngsters. I could not see any ra- 
tional purpose in thus gormandizing, unless their ob- 
ject was to lay in enough at one time to last them 
until the next foray ; and clearly, some of them had 
done that, even though it should be necessary to skip 
the ensuing Sunday. 


9 8 


Richard Gordon 


A little while after sunset Abner came in, grinning 
from ear to ear. 

“Wall, sir, how did you’ns git through hit?” 

“Why, I had more fun than a cage of chimpanzees. 
I wouldn’t have missed it for the world; it taught me 
lots of things I didn’t know before.” 

“What was them?” and he cast upon me a look of 
expectancy. 

“For one thing it convinced me that there isn’t 
much danger of the race running out in this commu- 
nity; and, again, that the average boy’s belly is like 
a sinkhole, without either sides or bottom.” 

“Shore ’nough, hit does look like childern drap 
offen chincapin bushes, and when they git here, thar 
aint no sich thing as fillin’ ’em up. They’s alius 
hongry.” 

“But,” said I, “how have you passed the time?” 

“Oh, I jist got dong as common. I gathered up 
some of the boys and dogs, and we’ns had a rar’ old 
time chasin’ rabbits for a while; and arter that, I tuck 
a litle bag of meal-dough up the crick to bait my 
fishin’ hole. I didn’t want my suckers to think I had 
forgot ’em while I was at work.” 

“I see. You don’t fish on Sunday, but you bait the 
hole, so you can catch the suckers better on other 
days.” 

“Yes, sir; hit’s agin the law to go afiishin’ on 
Sunday, and then thar’s a lot of lazy devils round 
here that would squeal on a feller, jest to git the wit- 
ness fees.” 

As he said this he assumed the air of a man who 
understod his business. 

“Don’t you go to church?” I asked, just to hear 
what his answer would be. 

“Not much. Churches is places for them that’s got 
good clothes and wants to show ’em to thar neigh- 
bors. I go sometimes, when they have big meetin’s 
and basket dinners; but not reg’lar. And then hit 
don’t ’pear like God A’mighty hisself is takin’ much 


Richard Gordon 


99 


hand in the church business, nowadays. They was 
holdin' a meetin' in a new church over yonder in the 
valley last summer, when a big storm come up; the 
lightnin' struck the building kilt four or five of the 
folks, and like to have ruint the balance. 'Nother 
time they was havin' preachin' in the Zion meetin' 
house, when the Baker boys were takin' a big part, 
givin' in thar sperience, and sich; but when the meet- 
in' broke, they went out in the road, picked a fuss 
with a neighbor boy, .split his head open with a ax, 
and now they is in the pen for life. And no longer 
than last summer, year ago, Tom Ellis tuck Kate 
Jones to preachin' one night, and on thar way home 
he ruint her, he did, and as soon as he seed the trouble 
that was acomin', he lit out for the West, and thar 
she is, with a gre't big boy baby to take care of. Yes, 
sir, she's plumb ruint, for good. 

“And that aint all. Thar was Deacon Skinner, 
what got mad at Dave Talbot, the saw-mill man, 'bout 
leetle of nothin', slipped over to the mill at night, and 
driv a lot of twenty-penny nails in the logs, and when 
they went to cut up the logs the nails jest tore the saw 
all to pieces. But they ketched up with him, tuck 
him to court and made him pay for the saw, and a fine 
of two hundred dollars, to boot." 

“Well, Abner, that sounds like a pretty ugly indict- 
ment you are drawing against the churches and 
church-going people." 

“Yes, sir; but mebbe hit aint so much the fault of 
'ligion, as the way folks acts under the kiver of 'lig- 
ion. And yit, I feel like I have to go a-fishin' or 
somewhar's else, to keep out of bad company." 

And Abner was a reasoner, in his way, after all. 
I don't think I ever knew a fisherman who was not 
some sort of a philosopher. He might be ragged, 
hungry, and worthless in every respect; but still he 


IOO 


Richard Gordon 


could furnish a mighty good reason for everything 
he did, or an excellent excuse for what he had failed 
to do. If things did not go his way, he would wait 
for more favorable conditions, and go their way. He 
would never lose his temper, or forget his patience, 
for he knew that a mad or restless man could never 
catch fish. 

Fishing and philosophy seem to be natural yoke- 
fellows — Siamese twins. And if my skill as an artist 
were commensurate with my gifts as a writer, I should 
paint the picture of a fisherman angling in a tub, and 
the portrait of Diogenes, with his candle, under a tub, 
— the one vainly burning his tallow in the search for 
an honest man, the other, patiently waiting for a nib- 
ble from a fool. But how the devil could I paint 
Diogenes, and his candle, under a tub? Ah, I should 
seat the sapient lunatic on the ground, put the sput- 
tering luminary into his hand, and suspend the tub 
over him, by means of a wild grape-vine attached to 
an air-ship. Under this arrangement I would, at least, 
enjoy the satisfaction of feeling that the product of 
my genius would remain a permanency. 

We partook of a light repast that evening, out of 
consideration for the over-taxed strength of the wom- 
en whose duty it was to prepare it. They had al- 
ready done enough in that line to warrant me in re- 
tiring without any supper at all. In fact, my stomach 
felt just a little sensitive and heavey whenever I 
thought on the subject of eating; for there is some- 
thing in and about the sight of gluttony on the part 
of others that has a tendency to dull the edge of one's 
own appetite. 

After tea, I was limping about the porch and pas- 
sage in default of something better to do, when Edith 
approached with a lighted lamp in her hand. 


Richard Gordon 


ioi 


‘‘Richard, I am going to suggest a thing at which 
a strained notion of propriety might scowl. But you 
have lived down here within bare and unattractive 
walls for several days, and I know you must be tired 
of your surroundings. Grandpa would never con- 
sent to any change in the arrangement of things down 
stairs. He abhors what he calls new-fangled trump- 
ery, and would not permit one to%iove an old musket, 
or hunting-knife, to make room for the rarest treasure 
in the Paris Gallery of Fine Arts. So I am going to 
take you up to my room, just for a little change of 
scene. I have nothing that is either interesting or 
instructive ; but still, if you can get up the steps, it 
will be a changed 

“V eni, vidi” Well, I will have to abandon Julius 
here, to be sure — I was conquered. 

It had been my fortune, through some accident or 
mistake, to be ushered into apartments in which the 
upholstery and general appointments had cost thou- 
sands of dollars, where the walls fairly gleamed with 
purple and gold, and upon the floors of which rested 
carpets that might have made a Persian shah turn 
green with envy; but, I pledge you my word, that 
simple, home-made, rag floor-covering, and imitation 
Smyrna rug, were far more inviting, and in better 
keeping with the grain of my own fabric, than if they 
had been woven on the looms of Belgium’s capital, or 
spun by human spiders in the Vale of Kashmeer. 

If I had been the fool to expect the hewn-log walls 
of her room to be embellished with masterpieces of art, 
or with costly bric-a-brac, I should, of course, have 
been foredoomed to disappointment. Over the man- 
tel-board hung two portraits, of the same size, in 
crayon. One was a picture of her mother, who, like 
the daughter, had been the possessor of dark hair and 
a handsome face ; yet her features were lacking in that 
polish and finish which characterized those of the 
child. The other portrait was a likeness of her ven- 


102 


Richard Gordon 


erable, white-haired grandfather, in a white stock and 
gray jeans clothes. 

On the right there was a gilt-framed chromo of 
Mary Stuart, the beauteous, murdered queen of the 
Scots. To the left there were two similarly framed 
chromos — a lotus-tinted representation of Moon-rise 
on the Nile, and a splendid view of Niagara Falls. 
These, with a few ^lacques and brackets, constituted 
the wall ornaments of her apartment. 

In an old-fashioned walnut book-case, which stood 
near the head of her bed, were the few prized volumes 
that composed her library ; and being curious to learn 
the character of the books from which she had gleaned 
such extensive and varied information, I went up to 
the case and opened it.* The first books that attracted 
my notice were the six volumes of Gibbon’s “Decline 
and Fall of the Roman Empire the next, Hallam’s 
“Middle Ages,” in one volume; and then came the 
historical works of Hume and MacAulay. After 
these there were three volumes, containing choice se- 
lections from the “Comedie Humaine,” of Honore 
DeBalzac ; then Shakespeare, Byron, Tennyson, 
Scott’s poems, and several of the Waverly novels, 
among which were Ivanhoe, Kenilworth, The Talis- 
man, and The Bride of Lammermoor. 

When I had looked over this collection, Edith said: 

“These are the books that were left to me by my 
friend and teacher, of whom I have told you. Since 
her death, I have been able to add, at times, a few vol- 
umes by our native authors ; but, with my limited 
means, it has been impossible, of course, to collect 
anything like a complete library.” 

Among those which she had bought herself, I saw, 
Washington Irving, Emerson, Longfellow, Nathaniel 
Hawthorne, and the names of many living writers, 
but which I shall refrain from mentioning, lest I 
should become invidious to those whose works were 
not included in her collection. In my humble opin- 
ion, she had displayed good taste in her selection. It 


Richard Gordon 


103 


would be practically impossible for one to read every- 
thing that has emanated from the pen, or typewriter, 
of talent; and the best one can do is to make a few 
judicious selections, and try to be content. 

And, after all, books neither make people, nor great- 
ly mar them. A genius would be a genius still, if he 
did not know his letters. On the other hand, if a man 
is an ass, in breeding, all the ink that was ever shed 
could not convert him into anything else. It might 
smooth his hair, tie a ribbon on his tail, or put tassels 
in his ears; but it could not change his manners, nor 
disguise his voice. 

I talked with Edith about her books, and was sur- 
prised to find how completely she had their varied 
contents at command. Her memory must have been 
very retentive, or else she had read and re-read them 
until she had almost learned them by heart; and, 
without being conscious of the fact, she took the role 
of teacher, while I sat as a pupil. 

Seeing a lute lying across the foot of her bed, I 
asked her to fetch it and play for me; and, while 
tightening the strings and putting the instrument in 
tune, she said: 

"We have never been able to indulge ourselves in 
the luxury of an organ or piano; so have had to be 
content with simpler and cheaper means of cheer.” 

“I don't think you could have improved upon a vio- 
lin, a guitar, or a lute, even if you had been worth a 
million. I never fancied an organ, because it always 
made me think of thunder set to music ; and as for the 
piano, that will do for concert halls, and other spa- 
cious affairs, in which distance may be expected to 
contribute somewhat in the work of enchantment. 
But for enjoyable, soulful melody, at close range, give 
me the stringed instrument, always.” 

Thus encouraged, she played for nearly an hour, 
and with a gentle, soft touch which produced sounds 
that were the very essence and spirit of music itself. 
And the feature that lent additional charm was the 


104 


Richard Gordon 


fact that she played without apparent effort, not even 
glancing at the instrument, except when it was neces- 
sary to tighten or loosen a chord to effect the desired 
harmony. 

I could have listened to her playing for hours lon- 
ger ; but she had trusted me, honored me — taken me 
into her bed-chamber and entertained me in a manner 
and spirit without guile, and I would not abuse her 
kindness. I had not so much as touched her hand. I 
loved her. I bade her good-night. She followed me 
to the door. There I stopped and kissed her — once — 
twice — and again. 

After I had reached my room and closed the door, 
I heard her descend the steps, and go in to pay her 
nightly devoir to Grandpa. 

I had got through the day. 


Richard Gordon 


105 


CHAPTER VIII. 

I felt much stronger and better in every respect 
when I arose the next morning, and, although it was 
still necessary to invoke the aid of Abner in dressing, 
I began to hope that in a few more days I would be 
ablei to dispense with his services (entirely. The 
wound on my head was healing rapidly and satisfac- 
torily, but my shoulder still gave me some trouble, 
which made it necessary to carry my arm in a sling. 
My hip, too, was stiff, but I was relieved of the acute 
pains that had attended any sudden movement on the 
first two days after my fall. I was gratified at the idea 
that Dick would soon be on his feet again. 

And yet, what should Richard do with himself 
when he attained this quasi-desired end? Pay his 
reckoning, move his effects to the home of Mr. Gra- 
ham, and thus place three miles between himself and 
Edith? These questions were more easily propound- 
ed than answered. In the first place, if my reckoning 
should be commensurate with my debt of gratitude, 
the only resort for me would be a petition in some 
court of bankruptcy. As for leaving Edith, sufficient 
unto the day was the evil thereof. I would at least 
wait for a more convenient season. 

I had sent Abner to the field to help Rube with his 
farm work, as I felt that I would not need him before 
noon, and was sitting on the porch, wondering what I 
should do for pastime, when Edith came out and 
asked : 

“Are you better this morning?” 

“Very much better in every way.” 

“Do you feel equal to a trip of a few miles in your 
buggy?” 


106 Richard Gordon 

“Certainly. If I had you along to do the driving, 
and to preserve the pieces.” 

“Then how would you like a drive over to McMinn- 
ville this forenoon?” 

“Just the thing — if you'll go, too.” 

“Yes; I'll drive, and you may hold me accountable 
for salvage. I'll be ready in five minutes.” 

It did not require much time for Edith to accom- 
plish things ; when she started, she went. I had not 
reached the barn door, when she overtook me, and, 
going into the stall, led the horse out. Together, we 
soon had him harnessed and hitched to the vehicle. 

I had seen many one-armed people, but had never 
realized before how extremely awkward it was to at- 
tempt to do ordinary things with only one hand. 
Those who have been so unfortunate as to lose one 
member, seem to get on very well, but it must re- 
quire much time to become accustomed to the incon- 
venience. 

Edith, however, had two hands, and dexterious 
hands at that; and she did not mind using them one 
bit. 

We got in and started; but, as the road was steep 
and somewhat rough, we were forced to drive slowly. 
On the way Edith became more communicative than 
she had as yet been, and told me, without reserve, how 
they managed their domestic affairs. She said that 
the surplus output of the mill was taken over to town 
and exchanged for flour, sugar, coffee, and such other 
supplies as were needed in the household; that the 
possession of the mill enabled them to keep quite a 
number of hogs, some of which were fattened and 
sold on foot, while about a dozen of the best were 
killed and converted into bacon; and, if they found 
they would have more of this commodity than would 
be required, they sold the excess for a good price. A 
few cattle and about twenty-five sheep also contributed 
to their income ; and, lastly, but by no means of least 


Richard Gordon 107 

importance, a large number of domestic fowls helped 
to swell their revenue. 

“We seem to have a good deal of money, but it re- 
quires so much to keep a farm supplied with necessary 
things. The work-stock must be shod ; the harness 
will break, or wear out, which creates a demand for 
new sets ; then the plows, wagons, and harvesting 
machinery get broken; so there is a constant drain 
on a farmer’s exchequer. But, fortunately, we are all 
simple in our tastes, moderate in our wants, and 
waste but little on things that are not needed. As for 
myself, I am so constituted that I do not expect or 
covet expensive articles of any kind. If I go to town 
and see ladies and girls who are better dressed than 
I am, I do not envy them. I don’t know why, but I 
don’t.” 

“I think I can tell you why you should not envy 
other women. They have only to look under your 
hat, and the feeling of envy will find a lodgment with 
them.” 

And when we had reached the prosperous, pictur- 
esque little city among the hills, I had ample reason 
for believing that my judgment was not at fault. Men, 
women, and children, of all classes, stopped on the 
side- walks and gazed at her in a manner that smacked 
of rudeness ; for there is something in surpassing 
physical beauty that will cause the best-mannered of 
us to stare at the fortunate possessor of it. 

We stopped at the carriage shop in order to get the 
damaged wheel repaired, and, leaving the horse and 
buggy there, walked up to the main business portion 
of the town. Edith wanted to do some shopping, and 
I concluded to communicate with my uncle by tele- 
phone; then I could call and see the lawyer whom he 
had recommended to me. 

I had no difficulty in finding the central office of the 
telephone company, and as I' limped up the stairway 
leading to the room I heard a broguish though not 
unmusical voice, singing: 


io8 


Richard Gordon 


“Oh, my name is O'Leary, 

And I never grow weary 
Marking the laps 
That stretch into miles." 

At the door I confronted the somewhat abbreviated 
possessor of this melodious voice, with its foreign 
twang. 

“Walk r-right in, sir. How can I sarve ye?" And 
his genuflection might have put a French dancing 
master to shame. 

“Mr. O'Leary, I presume," said I, extending my 
hand. 

“Even so — correctus-in-curia. But whom have I 

the honor to mate?" 

“Gordon, sir; Richard Gordon; and I would like 
to communicate with a friend in Murfreesboro," I 
said. 

“Certainly. Just give the young lady the name of 
the person you desire to talk with, and she will have 
him up in a tr-rice. You will please step into that r-re- 
ceptacle there, and await developments." 

I did as directed; and in a few minutes I heard a 
familiar voice at the other end of the line, saying: 

“Well, halloo! Who’s that?" 

“Dick," said I. “I am at McMinnville, undergo- 
ing repairs." 

Thereupon I repeated to him what I had written on 
Saturday evening. He replied that he was just in 
the act of answering my letter, which he had received 
by the early mail. He then proceeded to state a series 
of facts that came very near bowling me over, like a 
ten-pin. He informed me that the tract of land, the 
condition of which I had undertaken the trip to in- 
vestigate, had once belonged to my host, Reuben Ral- 
ston; but that for some reason, which he did not 
know, it had been sold under execution ; and that my 
father, who was then living, seeing the published no- 
tice, had come to McMinnville, and bought the prop- 


Richard Gordon 


109 


erty for five thousand dollars on the day of the sale. 
He asked me if I had not read the documents which 
I had brought with me; and I replied in the negative, 
offering as an excuse the fact that my injuries had 
been of such a nature as to unfit me for business. He 
then advised me to go at once to Col. Mayhue's of- 
fice, to lay the matter before him, and act upon his 
counsel. 

Fearing that Edith might get through with her 
shopping and become impatient while I was engaged, 
I hunted her up and told her to go to the hotel and 
wait for me, in case I was not ready. I then sought 
out Col. Mayhue’s office, and, presenting my letter of 
introduction, proceeded to enlighten him as to the pre- 
dicament I was in. When I had finished my story, 
his shrewd, but kindly face showed plainly that he 
was puzzled. He thereupon unfolded to me what he 
knew of the situation, his narrative throwing me into 
a veritable vortex of perplexities. His account of the 
matter was as follows: 

“Uncle Reuben had been a man, who, by energy 
and economy, had acquired a considerable amount of 
property, both real and personal. But as his children 
became of age he had made it a rule to give each one 
a good horse and five hundred dollars, as a means of 
starting in life. Some had accepted this advancement 
in cash, while others had taken their portion in land. 

“Sarah, his youngest child, and the mother of Edith, 
had married a man by the name of Egbert McLean, 
in opposition to the advice and contrary to the strong- 
ly expressed wishes of her father. This Egbert Mc- 
Lean had drifted into the community from some place 
in East Tennessee, and, being a man of education, 
fine personal appearance and good address, had per- 
suaded her to leave home and marry him. After the 
marriage the old father took a philosophical view of 
the matter, forgave them, and the couple became in- 
stalled at the old home. 


no 


Richard Gordon 


“Having heard of Uncle Reuben's rule as to the 
advancement, McLean approached him upon the sub- 
ject, claiming and pretending that he would invest the 
amount of Sarah's portion in a small home near town. 
As it chanced, the old man did not have the money at 
that time ; and as neither McLean nor his wife desired 
its equivalent in land, McLean persauded his father- 
in-law to give Sarah his promissory not for five hun- 
dred dollars. 

“The old fellow protested at first, saying he did not 
like notes ‘nohow.' But finally, he yielded, and exe- 
cuted his note to Sarah for that sum, at twelve 
months, with legal interest. McLean took this note, 
but, instead of buying a home, began to dabble in 
mining operations, and was thus engaged until about 
a month before its maturity, when he disappeared. 

“In a few days thereafter, Uncle Reuben received 
notice that the Bank of Tullahoma held his bond for 
the sum of five thousand dollars, with accrued inter- 
est. Of course this intelligence was like a thunder- 
peal from a clear sky, and the old fellow came over to 
see me at once in regard to the matter. I told him 
the best course was for me to run down to Tullahoma, 
where I could see the note and determine whether or 
not there was an error in the bank's claim. 

“I did so; and when I got there, sure enough, that 
institution held a note, duly signed by Reuben Ral- 
ston, for the sum of five thousand dollars, together 
with three hundred dollars of interest. I was amazed, 
but there was the instrument in regular form, and, so 
far as I could detect, without a scratch, erasure, or 
defect. 

“It had been signed by Mr. Ralston, for I was fa- 
miliar with his signature, and indorsed by both Mc- 
Lean and his wife, Sarah. There could be no doubt 
as to the genuineness of the signatures. Hence I was, 
for the present, at the end of my row. 

“I came back, and, the next day, reported to Uncle 
Reuben what I had seen. He was dumbfounded; but 


Richard Gordon 


hi 


protested that he had not given his note for that 
amount. I then told him that the only course was to 
refuse payment, and, if the bank instituted suit, he 
could enter a plea of non est factum , and defeat the 
claim upon the ground of fraud. I also explained to 
him that it would be necessary, in case he decided to 
adopt this course, to appear in court with his daugh- 
ter, and all other available witnesses, and establish the 
fact that the note was, as he had signed it, an obliga- 
tion to pay only five hundred dollars. 

“When I made this statement to him he dropped his 
head into his hands and wept. But notwithstanding 
all my argument, persuasion, and pleading, I could not 
induce him to contest the matter. He contended that 
if he should do this it would publicly disgrace his 
daughter, and cast life-long reproach upon herself and 
her child — for she then had a child, only a few weeks 
old. 

“I did and said everything I thought my position 
as a lawyer would warrant to induce him to look at the 
matter from a standpoint of law; but he persistently 
declined my advice, and only asked that this tract of 
land* which contains, I believe, one thousand acres, be 
sold to discharge the judgment. This was done, and 
your father became the purchaser. The price, how- 
ever, lacked about three hundred and fifty dollars of 
paying the entire debt, interest, and cost. But further 
execution was suspended, by agreement, and in a short 
time that, too, was paid. 

“Of course, it goes without saying, that McLean 
was a rascal, who had raised the amount of this note, 
and, after having his innocent wife indorse it, had 
sold it to the Tullahoma bank, pocketed the money, 
and abandoned her. This is the case, in a nut-shell. 
Mrs. McLean is dead, and her daughter knows noth- 
ing of the matter, for Uncle Reuben has said he 
would disinherit the member of his family who should 
tell her.” 


I 12 


Richard Gordon 


When Col. Mayhue had concluded I sat for several 
moments as one in a dream ; then collecting my 
thoughts with a strong effort, asked : 

“Whatever became of her father — Egbert McLean, 
I mean?” 

“It is not positively known; but it has been stated, 
upon good authority, that he went to Northern Mexi- 
co, where he was murdered by the Yaqui Indians; and 
it is to be hoped, for the happiness of his daughter, 
who is a most excellent girl, that this report is true.” 

I made no comment. Verily this was a day of reve- 
lation. And I was the owner of the tract of land that 
Uncle Reuben had lost in this way. If I had read the 
papers in my possession I would have known this fact 
sooner; but they could have given me no insight into 
the puzzling problem which the lawyer’s story had 
laid before me. It was a dilemma, the head of which 
was decorated with several horns. 

But feeling that I must get out of that office for 
fresh air and to think, I told Col. Mayhue I desired 
to retain him as counsel in my affairs, and, after pay- 
ing him a moderate fee, bade him good morning and 
left. 

And Edith was the daughter of a scoundrel — a hand- 
some, polished villain, who had robbed his old father- 
in-law and abandoned his wife and child. Well, he 
was dead, or was supposed to be, and that was one 
consolation. Must she suffer for his crime? Should 
the sins of a graceless, inhuman father be visited upon 
this innocent, motherless child? Was she to be held 
accountable, now or hereafter, for misdeeds in which 
she could have had no share, no concern? 

Not by a damned sight ! The hideous compound 
was yet to be brewed in the caldron of hell that could 
smirch her heart, or tarnish her soul. As for her 
name, her honor, these were my own ; and the tongue 
that would traduce her had better have been palsied 
in infancy. 


Richard Gordon 


I limped down the street, thinking, — turned and 
limped back up the street, thinking. I stopped, seized 
with a sudden resolve. There are moments in the lives 
of most men, when from out the whirlwind of per- 
turbation, the tempest of emotion, there leaps a flash, 
as of lightning, dispelling the darkness and leading 
the way. Just what this mental phenomenon may be 
I do not know. By some it is termed inspiration ; but 
whether it be inspiration, divination or damnation, it 
seems, for the moment at least, to snatch a fellow out 
of the quicksand. 

It was now n o’clock, and it had been two hours 
since I left Edith. She must be getting impatient, I 
thought, and I was hurrying towards the hotel, when 
I was accosted by my dapper, broguish acquaintance 
of the telephone office. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Gordon ; but ye are the gentleman 
who met with an accident while en route to our city a 
few days since, aren’t ye?” 

“I am one individual who suffered such misfor- 
tune on last Wednesday,” I replied. 

“There was but one of whom I had any account ; 
and when I hyerd of the affair, and of the coveted 
chance ye were having to be revived and nursed by 
Mistress Adith, I could but wish it had been yer neck 
instead of yer head that was broken.” 

“What the devil are you driving at?” I asked, my 
face flushing with anger. 

“Nay, don’t get angry, sir. Ye are a gintleman of 
too much sense to take humbrage at an Irishman’s 
nonsense. I simply meant to say that Mistress Adith 
is the loveliest young lady in this whoile country, and 
a mon could well afford to have his neck wrenched, if 
not broken, for the chance of being nursed by her.” 

“In that particular I shall not disparage your taste — 
but I was hurrying to take her home,” I said. 

“Ah, then, bon voyage, to yerself and her, with na 
more accidents.” And he cordially shook my hand, as 
he passed on. 


¥4 Richard Gordon 

“A queer chap, that; but there's evidently a good 
heart inside his Irish ribs," I said to myself, as I went 
on to the hotel. 

I found Edith waiting for me, and apologized for 
my delay, saying I had been detained much longer 
than I had expected. We gathered up the bundles 
between us and started for the shop where the horse 
and buggy had been left. Passing a confectionary, I 
stopped to get a package of bon bons for Zeb and 
Nan, and, incidentally, for Edith, if one must know. 

The broken spoke had been removed and a new one 
put into its place ; so we got in and started for — home ? 
shall I say? It depended, as to whether or not the 
place would any longer be a home to me. 

“I encountered a funny sprig of Irish loquacity at 
the telephone office," I said to Edith, “and was sur- 
prised when he referred to my fall." 

“That was Tony O'Leary, the manager of the local 
office. He is the character of the town. Just how he 
could have heard of your accident it would be impossi- 
ble to say ; but news in this country is a bird of rapid 
flight. It taketh unto itself the wings of the morning, 
resting neither at noon nor at night, and before one is 
aware, it is passim. The telephone is a great news- 
spreader, but still there seems to be some wireless sys- 
tem in vogue which can even surpass that as a means 
of dissemination. I have often wondered what this 
mysterious agency could be." And she laughed gaily 
at the thought of it. 

I tried to talk and appear natural, as we drove back ; 
but in spite of my efforts in that direction, I would 
fall into moods of abstraction. These became so fre- 
quent and of such duration that Edith could not help 
noticing them, and she began to rally me about my 
absentmindedness. 

“I am sorry you are losing interest in my charming 
company," she said, with an affected pout. 

“Pardon my discourtesy, Edith ; but you misinterpret 
my silence. I could not help it. Mr abstraction was 


Richard Gordon 


ii5 

caused, not by lack of interest in your company, but 
rather by an all-absorbing concern for you and your 
happiness. You told me once you loved a good horse 
— would you accept this one, and his disfigured owner, 
as a gift?” 

She turned her face toward me. Her look was in- 
tent; her cheeks were flushed. 

“I could not,” and her tone was even, calm and posi- 
tive. 

“Edith, you know I love you better than all else on 
earth. Why not?” 

“I could not accept the horse for two reasons. I be- 
lieve that in making the offer you are actuated, in part, 
by an exaggerated feeling of gratitude for what I 
and others have done for you. Again, were I so sel- 
fish as to take him, it would be like stealing the cruth 
from a cripple.” She hesitated and smiled at this 
thought. 

I was becoming convinced that I had selected an in- 
opportune occasion for a display of my generosity. 

“And as for myself, the less desirable feature of 
my offer ?” I asked, my heart beating a quick-step. 

We were traveling slowly; the horse was taking his 
time. One of Edith's hands rested tremblingly in 
mine, while the other, still holding the lines, lay in 
her lap. 

“Richard, I love you — heaven grant it may not be 
too well. I have felt from the time I first saw you, 
and especially from the moment when I found you 
lying bleeding and unconscious by the roadside, that 
there was some subtle, mysterious force, which would, 
in some way, link our destinies, — be to us, Kismet. 
And yet, at times, I cannot escape the torturing 
thought that our lives, our surroundings, have been 
wholly dissimilar ; that you, reared as you were, midst 
polite, refining influences, would soon grow tired of, if 
not disgusted with, the best that I could ever hope to 
become / 

I tried to stop her. 


Richard Gordon 


i 16 

“Wait a moment/' she continued, in tones of in- 
tensely appealing sadness. “I have felt instinctively, 
intuitively, without tangible reason, that there was 
some mystery connected with, some shadow overhang- 
ing, my life. I do not know what it is ; but I feel it. 
People look at me strangely. Nothing but dumb ani- 
mals will take to me kindly. I have but few acquaint- 
ances, no friends, and I have known for years that the 
only human being, now living, who has constantly 
loved me is my grandfather. I am entirely dependent 
upon him ; and when he is gone " 

Tears glistened in her beautiful dark eyes. I put 
my arm about her waist, and drew her towards me. 

“Edith, for your own sake, and for mine, don't in- 
dulge such thoughts ; they will make you morbid — be- 
cloud your life. And yet, granting that there could 
be some foundation for them, would not that be all 
the greater reason why you should accept the love, the 
homage, of one who is more than willing to contribute 
his supreme efforts, his all, to insure your happiness?" 

“Possibly, if the existence of these things did not 
mar two lives instead of one." 

“Then, if I should give you my honor, plighted upon 
the memory of my mother, that no possible difference 
in social conditions, nor cloud of any character, den- 
sity or conformation could ever change my feelings 
toward you, would you not consent to become my 
wife ?" 

She was trembling like a captured bird, as I held 
her closer to me. 

“I should believe what you said, and tell you, in 
return, that I shall always love you. Yet I could not 
leave Grandpa. I have told him I would not. It would 
be too cruel." 

“But if he should give his consent, would not your 
objection be overcome?" 

“You must ask him." 

“I will." And I clucked to the horse. 


Richard Gordon 


ii 7 

We reached home rather late for dinner. In fact 
the other members of the family had finished when 
we arrived. But a good substantial meal had been kept 
warm for us by the thoughtful, accommodating Aunt 
Molly, and we showed our appreciation in the only 
proper and convincing way. I was wholly and ab- 
sorbingly in love, but was so constituted that this fact 
did not materially interfere with my ministrations to 
the Department of the Interior. 

I saw but little more of Edith that afternoon and 
nothing of Uncle Reuben, as the latter was at the barn 
watching Rube and the hands put loads of corn into 
the cribs. Upon reflection, I had concluded not to be 
precipitate in approaching the old man upon the sub- 
ject that I had most at heart. I had been a guest in 
this home only about five days, and thought that if I 
should ask the grandfather's consent to a marriage 
between Edith and myself at once, he would, perhaps, 
have reason to suspect the strength of my attachment, 
if not the sincerity of my purpose. I resolved, there- 
fore, to wait yet a little while before I said anything 
to him about the matter. 

I went into my room, closed the door, and, taking 
out the file of papers, began to read them for the first 
time. As I proceeded I found that my uncle was cor- 
rect, and that the tract of land I had come to look after 
had formerly belonged to Uncle Reuben. Yet I did 
not feel greatly surprised at myself for not having 
read these papers before, because I had attained to 
man’s estate only on the day before I left home, and 
had been in no condition to read them since. Atten- 
tion to business is largely a matter of habit, or of 
necessity, and, as my uncle had had charge of .my af- 
fairs until recently, any inclination I might feel in this 
line would have to be cultivated. The major portion 
of my time had been spent in the school-room, on the 
gridiron, or in the base-ball field; so that the assump- 
tion of business management with me was a good deal 
like turning out a bird that had been reared in a cage, 


n8 Richard Gordon 

with the injunction to hustle for himself. But I did 
not intend to let the cat get me, even though I should 
fail to find as many crumbs as I would like. I would 
keep both eyes open, and roost high. 

The next day being Tuesday, Edith left the house 
immediately after breakfast and went to her work at 
the mill. I had had no opportunity of talking with her 
for any length of time since our return from town. 
I was restless, ill at ease, and spent some time at the 
barn rubbing my horse. I then put a halter on him, 
and led him up to the yard in order that he might 
nibble a little of the short grass that had not been 
entirely deadened by the frost. He seemed to enjoy 
it immensely, and I allowed him to regale himself in 
this way for an hour or more before I took him back to 
the barn. This done, I yielded to the subtile force 
which was ever drawing me to Edith, and started in 
the direction of the mill. 

When I had got within thirty-five or forty paces of 
the building, a man suddenly emerged from his hid- 
ing-place behind a large pile of old lumber that lay 
near the road-side, and rapidly advanced upon me. I 
saw at a glance it was the fellow Brum Legore, and 
I also saw that he carried, tightly gripped in his right 
hand, a long dirk-shaped knife. His face bespoke 
whiskey — his eyes looked murder. I came to a halt. 

“Stop !” said I, lifting my walking-stick into a strik- 
ing attitude. 

“Stop, hell ! I’m here to stop you, damn you. No 
man can hit Brum Legore with a stick and live long 
to brag about it.” 

His features wore the aspect of an enraged demon, 
and he continued to advance on me. When he had 
approached within reach of my stick, I directed a blow 
at his head with my whole might. But he nimbly 
stepped backwards and evaded the stroke ; while I, 
unbalanced by the fruitless force of my own exertion, 
fell upon my knees. Then rushing at me with up-lift- 
ed weapon, Legore snarled : 


Richard Gordon 


i 19 

“Now, G — d damn you, say your pray’rs, quick.” 

I threw up my right hand, hoping to grasp his 
wrist, and thus arrest the fatal thrust. I thought my 
time had come. But just as he stood over me, in the 
act of plunging the knife into my body, I heard the 
clack of a small rifle. The dirk dropped at my knees, 
and the ruffian, with a yell of pain, grasped his right 
wrist with his left hand, and staggered backward. 
Seeing my opportunity, I scrambled upon my feet and 
waded into him with bare knuckles. I had had some 
training in the art of boxing, and I gave him the full 
benefit of it. I had but one good hand, yet that was all 
I needed. I pounded and punched his eyes, nose and 
mouth, until his countenance assumed the aspect of a 
deviled roast. I gave him a regulation knock-down, 
and, jumping onto him, stamped, kicked and other- 
wise mutilated him until he fairly howled for mercy. 
I was mad, and I meant to kill him. But I did not. I 
felt a quiet, firm hand on my arm, and heard a sweet, 
gentle voice say : 

“That's enough, Richard — let him off. If you 
should kill him, you would regret it.” 

That hand, that voice, had a magic effect. I stepped 
back, and as soon as I could articulate distinctly, said; 

“Now, get up, if you can, and go. But if you ever 
set your foot on this place again, I’ll slaughter you as 
I would a mad-dog, throw your damned carcass into 
a sink-hole, and pile rocks on it. Do you hear ? Crawl 
off, you reptile.” 

He merely turned on his side and groaned. 

Edith walked back and picked up the knife, then 
came up to my side and stood there, holding the weap- 
on in her hand. Legore, however, made no effort to 
rise, but lay there, has face besmeared with blood and 
dust. I took him by the arm, and, with Edith’s aid, 
dragged him into the shade of a cedar tree. I saw 
that there was a small bullet hole through his right 
wrist. 


120 


Richard Gordon 


Edith then picked up the fellow’s greasy slouch hat, 
and, going down to the creek, filled it with water. 
This she poured on his head and face, and was in the 
act of using the corner of her apron to wipe off the 
stains, when I caught her arm, saying : 

“Don’t do that, Edith. I wouldn’t soil a rag with 
his filthy slime. Let the cowardly dog die, if he will.” 

I led her back to the mill, — and the meal had over- 
run the measure again. 

The little target rifle was leaning against the win- 
dow-sill. I picked it up, unbreeched it, and took out 
an empty brass shell. This I put into my pocket. 
From the window of the mill one commanded a good 
view of the spot where my encounter with Legore had 
occurred. 

I then turned and helped Edith to empty the meal- 
tub, and to scrape up that that had fallen on the floor. 
After this I sat down on the corn sacks to rest. At 
the end of fifteen or twenty minutes Edith looked out 
of the window and said : 

“He’s gone.” 

“I’m afraid I made a mistake in letting that scoun- 
drel go. I ought to have killed him. I would have 
been perfectly justifiable in doing it,” I said. 

“Yes; clearly so, — but then it would have been nec- 
essary to go into court and prove it ; and that is trou- 
blesome.” 

“This makes the second time, Edith, that you have 
stepped between me and the Grim Reaper. I can’t 
tell you what I think. — I can only feel it.” 

“Wouldn’t you have done the same thing for me?” 
she asked. 

“Not exactly. If our positions had been reversed, 
the hole would have been through that fellow’s head 
instead of his arm.” 

“Yes, but you are a man. If I had killed the wretch 
under those conditions, I would not have been ex- 
cusable in the eyes of the law. The attack was not 


Richard Gordon 


121 


made upon me, and I did not want to be charged with 
murder.” 

“Edith, you shot Legore for my sake. He knows 
this, or will find it out, and he is not a man to permit 
a thing like that to pass, without seeking revenge. 
I might prefer charges against him and have him put 
under bond to keep the peace, or sent to jail in default 
of such bond. Yet this would be only temporary im- 
munity, at best. Give me the right to love, cherish 
and protect you in such manner as that you will not be 
exposed to indignity at the hands of ruffians — give me 
the right to kill for you, if need be, even sooner than 
I would for myself. Be my own sweet wife.” 

And I slipped my arm around her waist. 

“Richard, I love you with all my heart, and I will 
marry you whenever Grandpa says I may. But, do 
you love me as a man should love the woman whom he 
would make his wife? Since yesterday there has been 
some shadow of doubt weighing on your mind.” 

And she seemed to sweep the ocean of my soul with 
the search-light of her eyes. 

“To be candid, there is a matter that has perplexed 
me, but it can have no bearing upon my devotion to 
you. I love you with every fiber, tissue and chord of 
my being. The feeling I have for you is different 
from any I had believed myself capable of entertain- 
ing. It is like a gentle spirit-hand resting on my heart- 
strings — it is idolatry.” 

“I am satisfied,” she said. 

And as she turned her face upward to kiss me the 
meal was overrunning the measure. 


122 


Richard Gordon 


CHAPTER IX. 

I did not go to the mill that afternoon, but sent 
Abner instead, giving him my rifle, with instruction to 
use it on the first two-legged hound he saw skulking 
about the premises. I did not anticipate any imme- 
diate retaliatory move from Legore himself, for I 
knew he would be lucky if he succeeded in dragging 
his battered anatomy home, or to some other place, 
for repairs. I had given him a drubbing which, I felt 
assured, would place him hors de combat for some 
time to come, even if he should ever recover. 

Yet I felt that a fellow of his stamp would be likely 
to have confederates, and that it would be best to 
keep in a state of preparedness for emergencies. For, 
no matter how cowardly and debased a man may be- 
come, there are always others to be found who are 
ready and willing, for hire, to serve as tools in the 
hands of Ishmael. But for all this, I did not feel 
much anxiety on that score, now, as it requires time 
for even deviltry to hatch its schemes. 

So I resolved to invite Uncle Reuben into my room, 
and make a clean breast of it. He was not busy, and 
came in with pipe and tobacco. I broke the ice by 
saying : 

“Mr. Ralston, I have been, for the past week, the 
recipient of your own and of your family's unstinted 
kindness. If I had been a member of your household 
I do not think I could have been accorded more un- 
selfish or more considerate attention. My needs have 
not only been met, but have been more than anticipat- 
ed. I am at a loss to determine how best to repay you 
for what you have done." 

I stopped for breath. 


Richard Gordon 


123 


“Well, Mr. Gordon, we'ns haint never been used to 
keepin‘ hotel, and I have alius made hit a rule to share 
what I had with any person that was in sich a fix they 
couldn't help tharselves — you'ns owe me and mine 
nothin', save good will." 

“Indeed, sir, I should prove myself worse than a 
viper, if I ever failed to render you the fullest measure 
of gratitude. And yet I am fearful you will think I 
possess some of the attributes of the ingrate when I 
have told you all I have to say. I love Edith, and 
have sought this interview in order that I might ask 
your consent to our marriage." 

“Does the child love you?" he asked, with a look 
that went to my heart's core. 

“She has told me she does," I replied with an ef- 
fort at composure. 

“Then hit is true ; for the child tells no lies." 

With this, he buried his face in has large bony 
hands, and remained in that posture for several min- 
utes, lost in meditation. I could hear my heart throbs, 
but did not disturb him. At the end of what seemed to 
me an interminable time, he raised his snowy head, 
and, looking fixedly into my face, resumed : 

“I know hit is but nateral, Mr. Gordon, for young 
folks to love one another, and to want to mate, and, 
under common sarcumstances, I would not be the 
man to stand in the way. Yit I could not be so un- 
just to you'ns, to the child, or to myself as to keep 
you'ns in the dark consarnin' some things that you'ns 
may not know." 

“I am not in the dark as to anything that relates 
to Edith's history," I said, interrupting him. “I know 
it all — everything; and I am anxious to shield you 
from any painful reminder of matters for which she 
shall not be held accountable, and in which she could 
have had no concern. The faults of the parent must 
not be visited upon the daughter." 

“I am proud to think you'ns can look at the matter 
in that light. I love the child with all my old shriv- 


124 


Richard Gordon 


elled heart. She has been like the breath of my body, 
an’ hit would kill me if I knew any harm had befell 
her. I believe hit has been love and consarn for her 
that has kept me alive for the last ten year. I want- 
ed to be spared until she growd old enough to take 
care of herself. I have had my will wrote, and in that I 
give her this house, the mill and a hundred acres of 
land jinin’ the improvements. The balance, about 
four hundred acres, is to be sold and the money di- 
vided ’mongst my ars, arter my death.” 

“I am not a rich man, Mr. Ralston, as wealth might 
be regarded in some communities ; yet I am fortunate 
in the possession of a competency — ample means to 
render Edith contented and happy. And it is for that 
reason, among others, that I have sought your ap- 
proval of our union in marriage.” 

“I have seed enough of you’ns in the short time 
you’ns have been with us to cause me to believe you’ns 
would not mistreat the child. Yet I misdoubt if you’ns 
would be content to leave her with me until I am 
dead, and hit would t’ar my old heart out if I had 
to give her up. You’ns are both young, and mayhap 
don’t know you’ns own minds, fully. I believe hit 
would be best to wait yet a leetle while before you’ns 
take this step. I have seed the ends of many hasty 
marriages, and they haint alius been good.” 

He paused. 

“While I was extremely anxious to assume the 
right to support and protect Edith, I am yet willing 
to abide any reasonable time you may appoint,” I 
assented. 

“Well, I hain’t goin’ to be hard on you’ns in that 
way, so I will ask you’ns to wait just six months from 
the day you’ns first met the child* then if you’ns no- 
tions on the same as they are now, you’ns may marry 
her, with her old grandfather’s blessin’.” 

I took his hand, and held it firmly. 

“I thank you, sir, for your goodness, and make you 
the positive promise that I shall never take her from 


Richard Gordon 


!25‘ 


you so long as you live. Like Edith, I am an or- 
phan, and the only home I have known for years has 
been one of adoption ; hence it will not be inconvenient 
to make this place my headquarters.” 

“Under these conditions, you’ns may have my full 
consent to the weddin’.” 

“That point settled, there are two other matters I 
want to discuss with you while we are alone. I have 
discovered within the past two days that you were the 
former owner of the tract of land which I was on my 
way to look after *when I met with the accident. 
Would you accept a deed to this land, with the pro- 
viso that it should descend to Edith at your death ?” 

“No, no, Mr. Gordon; I misdoubt if I would take 
hit back even by a set-fast deed. Hit could do me no 
good now, and would only be a bone for my children 
and grand-children to law and squabble over. And if 
you’ns marry the child, hit will be yourn and hern.” 

“The other point I had in mind is this: You have 
said I owed you nothing for past kindness. Will you 
permit me to reside in your home as a boarder, pay- 
ing a just sum for myself and my horse? You have 
heard of the trouble I had with a ruffian this morning, 
and of the part Edith took in the affair on my behalf, 
and I make this request in order that I may be in a 
position to protect her.” 

“Well, I hope thar won’t be no further trouble 
with that fellow, and mebbe he’ll leave arter the drub- 
bin’ he got. But if you’ns would like to stay with 
us, any trade you may make with Rube will be satis- 
fact’ry to me. 

And thus our interview ended. 

I felt that I could not afford to remain without com- 
pensating these good people for their trouble, and I 
did not want to leave for any consideration. So I re- 
solved to make terms with Rube without delay, and 
on the next day I would dismiss Abner, as I could 
now get on unaided. 


'126 


Richard Gordon 


And I had had my talk with the old man. I had 
dreaded it greatly, since I knew it must revive pain- 
ful memories with him^and I had been doubtful about 
obtaining his consent to my marriage with Edith. I 
had seen how devoted he was to her, how dependent 
he was upon her, and felt that it must be a severe or- 
deal for him. And notwithstanding the six-month's 
probationary clause, I was compelled to admit that 
he had been more generous and considerate than I 
had any reason to expect. 

Edith was his idol. As he had said, he had doubt- 
less witnessed the termination of many ill-advised 
marriages, and naturally desired to guard Edith 
against such a fate. I had, even in my own short 
career, known of such affairs. Who has not? 

My veneration for the old man was so profound 
that I should not have attempted to persuade Edith to 
elope with, and marry, me, even if he had said six 
years instead of six months ; as I would have pre- 
ferred to take the chance of his dying in the mean- 
time, rather than go counter to his wishes. 

I loved her, but I respected him, and I was heartily 
glad that he had not imposed a condition that would 
place me in the position of desiring his demise. He 
had not been unreasonable. On the contrary, his 
stipulation was fair, prudent and just. I would bide 
the time, and live up to it. 

On the next day I became installed as a boarder in 
the Ralston home at the moderate rate of fifteen dol- 
lars per month, for man and horse. In reaching a 
basis of settlement I had insisted upon paying fifty 
cents a day on Abner's account. This sum, three dol- 
lars, I gave to Aunt Molly, since she it was who had 
done the greater share of additional work occasioned 
by his presence. I could not induce Rube, however, to 
accept a penny for aught that had been done for me 
during the past week. 


Richard Gordon 


127 


Inasmuch as the telephone had become almost a 
necessity, even in the rural districts, I determined to 
have one established in the house, both for my own 
convenience and that of the family. Uncle Reuben 
scratched his head over the idea of this innovation, 
protesting that "hit would keep every body in the 
house awake o' nights with hits jingling, and mought 
let other folks know all ’bout our business.” 

But I told him the telephone was a great conserver 
of time and energy; that as a matter of convenience 
there had been but few inventions which surpassed 
it; that by having such communication with McMinn- 
ville, he could keep posted as to the prices of things he 
might have to sell ; and, in short, that after using it 
for a while he would find it almost indispensable. 

"Well, you’ns can try hit in the house, and then if 
hit gits to be a nuisance, you’ns can move hit out to 
the woodshed.” 

And with this qualified approval of my scheme, I 
proceeded to put it into operation. There was a line 
between McMinnville and Woodbury which ran along 
the road in front of the house, and I knew that but 
little time would be required to put an instrument in 
the building. So I walked up to the store, in front of 
which I had stopped a week before, and ringing for 
McMinnville, stated to my friend O’Leary what I 
wanted. 

"Right ye are, Mr. Gordon ; ye are a progrissive 
gintlemon — kape abreast of the times. I’m iver a mon 
for business. I’ll be over promptly at 1 o’clock this 
afternoon, and proceed to shed upon ye the light and 
the gab of the world.” 

As I went back I saw Edith coming down the hill 
to meet me. I stopped at the little branch where I 
had been thrown from my buggy, and as there had 
been no rain in the meantime the impression made by 
my body when I fell was still distinctly traceable in 


128 


Richard Gordon 


the dust. There, too, was a spot that had been sat- 
urated with blood, and afterwards hardened and in- 
crusted by the heat of the sun. Upon further inves- 
tigation I found the stone against which my head had 
struck, for a few strands of hair were yet clinging to 
its ragged edge. 

“Edith, ” said I, as she approached, “I feel that I 
shall always love this particular spot. Even that ugly 
rock, with its tom-a-hawk edge, that came so near 
scalping me, will ever have a tender place in my mem- 
ory.” 

“With very little more it might have become ma- 
terial for your monument. I could never endure it — 
it makes me shudder,” and she turned away from it. 

“But why should you shudder now? You didn’t 
'flinch while you were working to resuscitate me.” 

“No, for I was sustained by the knowledge that 
prompt measures were necessary at that time — and 
then ” She paused. 

“Then what?” 

“I did not feel towards you precisely as I do now.” 

“That is just why I entertain such a kindly feeling 
for the grim, ugly object. But for that you might 
never have felt towards me as you do now. I think 
I shall have it dug out, and the word Paradox chiselled 
on one side, and Ebenezer on the other. It would 
made a druidical shrine, wouldn’t it?” 

“You have your symbols somewhat mixed,” she 
replied; “but that condition would so aptly represent 
my own attitude towards the stone, I don’t think I 
should ever care to worship at it. It came too near 
being the cause of your death ever to become sacred 
in my regard. And besides, if you must carry senti- 
ment to that extent, you might as well have the image 
of a hog cut on it, too, for it was to the frightened 
hogs, primarily, that the accident was due.” 

“That will do, Edith, I give it up. The stone shall 
remain where it is. My fondness for the hog famil) 


Richard Gordon 129 

ends at the dining-table, and I never attend mass but 
once a day.” 

“Richard, I'm afraid you are irreverent, inclined to 
scoff at holy things.” 

“Why, hogs are not holy things.” 

“No; but you associate hogs and mass in such a 
way as to make the latter seem ridiculous.” 

“Well, my dearest, if you believe in mass, let's agree 
to disagree on that point, and compromise on fish, 
eggs and ham.” 

“If you will include goose in your menu , I'll join 
your club.” 

“Agreed — lame goose. Lame in hip, lamer in 
wing, and lamest in head.” 

“I am glad to find you so candid, and hope you will 
always be so. But come, let's go to the house — I 
don't like this place.” 

“Very well, but from this time on I shall not be so 
much concerned about place as about time. Did you 
know I had a talk with Grandpa yesterday?” 

“Indeed ! Backbiting me, were you ? But what did 
he say?” 

“He said one thing that I shall find it extremely 
hard to bear — imposed a condition that will seem 
interminable in its duration.” 

“What was that?” 

“It was, that if I would wait six months from last 
Wednesday, the 6th instant, I should have his con- 
sent to wed his grand-daughter, Edith McLean.” 

Her cheeks were flushed. She seemed absorbed in 
the movements of her shapely feet. She kept her 
eyes fixed upon the ground. 

“And you—?” 

“I reluctantly acceded to his terms, and, further- 
more, promised never to take you from him while he 
lives — Now, will you accept the horse?” 

“If I can't get him unconditionally, I suppose I 
must. But what will you do?” 


130 


Richard Gordon 


“Oh, I’ll borrow him whenever I need one.” 

“Then, if I furnish the horse and you the buggy 
and harness, that will make a partnership turn-out, 
won’t it?” 

“Yes, a partnership arrangement, limited as to ma- 
terial involved, but unlimited I hope in the possibili- 
ties for enjoyment.” 

“By the bye, what name have you given the horse? 
I don’t remember to have heard you call him by any.” 

“His name is Orville. I named him for an old 
school-mate and life-long friend. Do you like it?” 

“Immensely — it’s a very beautiful name, and, I 
should imagine, a rare one, even for a person.” 

“Yes, somewhat rare. I have known only two men 
who were so fortunate as to bear it, as a given name.” 

“Orville — Orville,” she repeated.” It is euphonious 
and easily pronounced. A horse couldn’t be bad 
with such a name as that.” 

“He has been pronounced, by experts in horse 
flesh, to be absolutely faultless ; he has no ugly traits 
or habits; and he is yours, name and all.” 

“If we were not in the public road, I should kiss 
you thrice — once for the horse, once for the name, 
and once for yourself.” 

“Well, as there are people stalking about, I will 
have to take the will for the deed this time. But re- 
member, I shall turn usurer when it comes to collect- 
ing this debt.” 

“Have you forgotten what I said about usurers ?” 

“No; but that applied only to the coin of the realm. 
There is no statute that fixes the rate of interest in 
cases of this kind. And even the Bible condemns but 
one kiss — that of Judas.” 

“True; but, if I’m not mistaken, that was the last 
kiss of which the good book makes mention. That 
was positively condemned, while the others, with pos- 
sibly one exception, were not especially commended. 
So that, notwithstanding I am self-condemned by the 


Richard Gordon 


131 

insistence, I am still not quite sure but that the moral 
preponderance is against the practice." 

“Not necessarily. The mere fact that this kiss was 
mentioned tends to prove, inferentially, that the habit 
of kissing prevailed among the Jews, and that this 
manner of saluting was considered a token of love 
and esteem; hence Judas' treachery was emphasized 
and intensified by his adoption of a commonly accept- 
ed mark of friendship. The kiss was condemned be- 
cause the kisser was a hypocrite." 

“Well, I may be silenced, but I don't know that I 
am entirely convinced." And she gave me a look that 
might have been variously interpreted. 

If a man wants a woman to respect him, he must 
argue like the devil, at times, to make her believe he 
has some sense. This is true, even though it should 
be necessary to purloin the livery of heaven in order 
to present a good appearance at the debate. 

“But, Edith, nonsense aside, don't you think Grand- 
pa was just a little severe in his condition?" 

“That we should wait six months?" 

“Yes." 

“I don't know — I love you fondly enough to marry 
you now ; but we are both young, and can afford to 
wait." 

“But I believe in early marriage." 

“And in early repentance?" This archly. 

“No; I am sure I shall never repent the act, and, 
if I should be so fortunate as to retain my health and 
mental faculties, you shall never regret it; for love, 
respect and confidence in the one should inspire a kin- 
dred feeling in the other. I love you for yourself, 
and nothing I might acquire or accomplish could af- 
ford me any . pleasure unless I knew you were an 
equal sharer in its enjoyment." 

“But suppose it should develop that, through no 
fault of my own, my name is beclouded; or that some 
physical misfortune should overtake me, and I be- 
came an invalid, would you love me still ?" 


i3 2 


Richard Gordon 


“In the first case, a cloud that should overhang 
you would likewise overshadow me, and the showers 
that descended from it would but nourish and 
strengthen the plant of devotion. And again, should 
you become the victim of bodily infirmity, I would 
most cheerfully consecrate my life, my possessions, 
to the work of alleviating your sufferings.” 

“Richard, that is the troth of a man, and from the 
altar of my soul I make you a similar vow.” 

“I did not need such testimony from you, Edith. 
As to what you are, and of what you are capable, I 
have had confirmation stronger even than proof of 
holy writ — the living, breathing heart of goodness.” 

“Then,” said she, “when we are married I shall 
have no fear for the future. I believe we will be to 
each other what we should.” 

* * * * * * 

Punctually, almost to the minute, Tony O'Leary 
came rattling up in a spring-wagon, in which were 
coils of wire and other necessary apparatus for put- 
ting in a telephone. 

“You are prompt, Mr. O'Leary,” I said. 

“Yes, sir; I talk by contract, and work on schedule 
time. Punctuality has saved mony a loife, and made 
mony a dime. I take me breakfast on the stroke of 
6 a.m., and as I was on me way this morning, I 
picked up a quarter in the strate. If I had been a 
minute later somebody else would have bate me to 
it.” 

“Did you find the owner?” I asked. 

“Nay, sir; I just put it in me pocket, and let the 
ither fellow do the hunting.” 

“But suppose it belonged to some poor person?” 

“Then he must have a poorer way of taking care 
of what he hath. One man's loss is anither's gain. 
But if I should see the fellow in distress, I would 
give him a dollar.” 


Richard Gordon 


133 


Tony’s hands and tongue seemed to vie with each 
other to see which could achieve the greater speed, 
and in less than an hour the machine was ready for 
business. 

“Now, Mr. Gordon, that gives you connection with 
McMinnville, Woodbury, Murfreesboro, and Nash- 
ville — a boon bestowed in the short space of three- 
quarters of an hour. Just think of what would have 
been necessary to accomplish this feat without the aid 
of our wonderful apparatus.” 

“I understand that. I came from a town in which 
the telephone is a household as well as a business ne- 
cessity.” 

“Then,” said he, “as I have finished your job, I 
shall take a few moments to look about meself. I 
dote on the country, but prefer to let the farmer do 
the farming. I have no fondness for the plow-handle. 
But, Christ! Look at the dargs. Would they ate a 
fellow up? And there is a grist mill on the crake — 
that is Mistress Adith’s merry-go-round. I should 
think it would require the out-put of two such mills 
to fade this troop of bastely hounds. Do they raise 
ony shape in this country?” 

“Certainly; we have a dog law, you know, and that 
furnishes protection to the farmers who are engaged 
in the sheep industry.” 

“Fiddlesticks ! If a census were taken, I ween, 
there would be found ten dargs to one shape in this 
country, and ivery divil’s son of ’em with an epicure’s 
fondness for mutton. Domn it, it’s a shame. I can’t 
get half as much of the stuff as I would like meself.” 

“Uncle Reuben has some sheep, and I haven’t 
heard any complaint of dogs killing them. These 
hounds are kennelled at night, and dogs don’t kill 
sheep in daylight. 

“Possibly, but ither people are not so particular, 
and all these lack is a chonce. The best place for the 
whole pack is a deep sinkhole, with rock bottom and 
perpendicular sides.” 


134 


Richard Gordon 


“I shall not take issue with you on that point. I 
think myself that if there were fewer dogs there 
would be more sheep, and hence, a greater number 
of dollars. The average dog is an unneccessary nui- 
sance.” 

“But I must be off, Mr. Gordon. Talk is chape 
and time is dating, and I must not forget that I run 
by schedule. If your 'phone should get out of order, 
just send me word, and I'll be with ye to the minute, 
unless the roads should get so domned dape in mud 
I can't crawl through.'' 

With this he leaped into his wagon and rattled off. 
As he passed down the road and was fording the 
creek, I heard him singing: 

• “Oh, me face is me fortune, 

Me voice is me friend, 

I’m lithe and I'm supple 
From end to end.” 

And as long as I could see him I could hear his 
voice, but could not distinguish the words of his 
Hudibrastic song. 


Richard Gordon 


135 


CHAPTER X. 

I had lost a week in point of time. I had gained 
eternity in Edith's affection. Yet man may not live 
on love alone any more than he may live and thrive 
on bread as a sole item of diet. Protracted subsist- 
ence upon either article, or even upon the two com- 
bined, is apt to tend towards attenuation of both soul 
and body, if not to an actual divorcement of the cou- 
ple. 

I had come to this neighborhood to accomplish 
certain things, and I must be up, out and doing. It 
was now the middle of November, and I had not seen 
Mr. Graham or the tenant Akers, nor did I know where 
my property was situate. I must bestir myself, see 
these men and find out. I could not expect a continu- 
ation of good weather for a greater length of time 
than three or four weeks, at most. It would require 
several days to properly survey a tract of land con- 
taining one thousand acres in a rough locality; for, 
in all probability, the ground would be matted with 
underbrush. This would make the work slow and 
tedious, since obstructions of that sort would have 
to be cut away in order to establish the correct lines. 

The deed in my possession did not set forth the 
metes and bounds in full, but merely referred to the 
deeds held by Reuben Ralston for a more accurate de- 
scription. Hence it was necessary to fall back upon 
these instruments for certainty.* Upon securing Un- 
cle Reuben’s papers we discovered that this tract of 
land had been conveyed by grant to his father, Caleb 
Ralston, by the State of North Carolina for services 
rendered during the Revolutionary War, and, more 
particularly, for gallantry at the battle of King’s 


136 


Richard Gordon 


Mountain. This grant had been revived and forti- 
fied by a special act of the Legislature of Tennessee 
a few years after the latter State was admitted into 
the Union. 

We found that Uncle Reuben had inherited a share 
in this property, and had subsequently purchased the 
several interests of the other heirs. Hence, with this 
array of properly recorded evidence, it was not pos- 
sible that any other holder could ante-date me in an 
adverse claim. The only difficulty would be to get 
rid of those who might have encroached or squatted 
on the land. Realizing that I had a task ahead of me 
that would require some time, and, perhaps, trouble, 
to accomplish, I called to see Mr. Graham with re- 
gard to the matter. From his place I drove over to 
town, had Col, Mayhue draft the proper notice to 
continguous owners, and employed the county sur- 
veyor to run off the land. 

We appointed Tuesday of the third coming week 
as the day on which we would commence operations. 
This delay was rendered necessary by the fact that the 
law requires that particular notice in writing, shall 
be given adjoining land owners, twenty days in ad- 
vance, in order that they may be present to see that 
no advantage is taken of themselves. 

I had dismissed Abner as a nurse, but put him on a 
horse, with a dozen or more copies of these notices 
for owners of land which bordered upon mine, and 
told him I would need four or five other hands, as 
chain-bearers, choppers and cleaners, when we began 
the work of surveying. He seemed very much elated 
over becoming the owner of eight dollars in cash, 
but his satisfaction was even greater at the thought 
of getting back to his fishing-hole, with bait-cup and 
home-made tackle. He would have three whole weeks 
of uninterrupted sucker fishing before it would be nec- 
essary to begin work again. 

Abner, like most young men of that naturally ster- 
ile country, was poor, and, unfortunately for her, the 


Richard Gordon 


137 


principal dependence of a widowed mother. He was 
about twenty-five years of f age, and would have glad- 
ly indulged matrimonial proclivities, had circumstan- 
ces been more indulgent towards him. And in spite 
of his effort to gouge me upon the occasion of my 
first transaction with him, I could not help liking 
him. In that instance he had merely exemplified the 
dominant trait of the Hill-Billy, in trying to get hold 
of the big end of the trade. But when he discovered 
that such tactics would not avail, he, like a pendu- 
lum, at once swung to the opposite extreme, and 
would have been willing to perform any ordinary 
service for me gratis. 

He had been with me long enough to inspire me 
with a feeling of interest in his welfare, as well as of 
attachment for himself. He was- amiable, reasonably 
discreet, honest and wholly obliging. He was too 
lazy ever to acquire much in the way of goods and 
chattels, yet, with encouragement and opportunity, 
he might at least make a comfortable support for an 
ordinary family. I had learned that he was accused 
of making sheep's-eyes at one Mary Goss, a poor, 
but not uncomely girl of the neighborhood. 

But Mary, being the eldest child, was therefore the 
drudge and pack-mule of a family comprising ten 
children. Her father was Grand High Priest of 
the Local Order of the Sons of Rest, Champion 
Quoits Pitcher of the 17th district, and Chairman of 
the Goods Box Poitical Club. Her mother had long 
since been worn into a jaundiced “frazzle” by cease- 
less daily toil and nightly vigil ; thus throwing the 
responsibilities of the irresponsible household upon 
Mary. So that the realization of whatever dreams of 
matrimonial bliss she may have nourished seemed as 
remote as Abner's prospects of providing for her. 

Abner's mother owned a two-room log house, ten 
acres of yellow sand, well set in broom-sedge, a milch 
cow, a sow and pigs, twenty hens and two roosters. 

Mary's father was the possessor of a wife and ten 


Richard Gordon 


138 

children, three dogs, and a dry cow, with a bell on her 
neck. Abner owned his fishing tackle. Mary claimed 
the clothes on her back. The last named went bare- 
foot in good weather — nearly so in bad weather. If 
her heels got frostbitten she rubbed them with mut- 
ton-suet, which she borrowed from some neighbor, 
and went on with her work. 

So, being, in a measure, under the potency of fel- 
low-feeling, and its kindly tendencies, I resolved to 
help Abner in every practicable way. I thought that 
if I could induce him to abandon the vagrant's habit 
of fishing there would be some ground for hope that 
he might make a decent living for himself and his 
mother, and, ultimately, for a wife. A good fisher- 
man is generally capable of achieving success as a 
bread-winner, if he will but turn his tact and talent 
in that direction. But getting him to do it is the 
rub. 

There is a charm, a fascination about the sport 
that cannot be resisted, whether the angler be a presi- 
dent, with his hundred-dollar tackle, or a pauper, with 
his cotton line and five-cent cane pole. The element 
of uncertainty, the prop of expectancy, furnish an ex- 
cuse for hanging on when every sign points to fail- 
ure, and every sound spells fisherman' s luck. 

Angling, however, is a gentlemanly sport, for all 
that, since it gives the fish the choice of biting and 
getting caught, or of leaving the bait alone. But 
dynamite and the seine are the instruments of vandal- 
ism, and, if countenanced by law, would soon com- 
plete the work of extermination. Hence it may safely 
be said that no gentleman will take fish by means of 
the former agency, nor would many gentlemen stoop 
to drag a fresh-water seine. 

in * in * * in 

When Abner had returned from the errand on 
which I had dispatched him, I asked him if he had 
had dinner. 


Richard Gordon 


139 


“Yes, sir; they was just eatin’ dinner when I got 
to Mr. Parker’s, and they axed me to jine ’em. Bein’ 
as I was gettin’ mighty holler, I didn’t wait to be 
pulled offen the horse, but got down and went in. 
Yet I wished arterwards I hadn’t done hit; for I 
got sot back powerful endurin’ the meal.” 

“How was that?” I asked. 

“Why, there was a plate of patty-cakes settin’ nigh 
me, and Miss Parker says, says she, ‘have some of 
them cakes, Mr. Merritt.’ I was jest takin’ her at 
her word, when she says, ‘take two, sir, and butter 
em while they is hot.’ And, by the Lord, I had to 
drap one, for I had tuck three. If I ever git a chance 
I’ll eat thar agin, and be shore to take one cake at a 
time, bekase I know she seed me.” 

“Well, maybe you were so upset by that incident 
you lost your appetite, and you had better wait and 
get supper here.” 

“I don’t mind if I do, sir; for I did eat light arter 
that. And then I heard somethin’ over at Higgins’ 
blacksmith shop that I reckon you’ns ought to know. 
They told me that Brum Legore had been tuck over 
to Simp Suggs’ house ’bout five mile from here, and 
he had promised to give Simp fifty dollars to waylay 
you’ns, and if Brum died, Simp was to get all he had 
for the job.” 

“Abner, I know that the average country black- 
smith’s shop is the devil’s improved incubator in the 
matter of lies and sensational rumors. I am not one 
whit afraid of Legore, or any of his gang; but if he 
should ever interfere with me again, I will either fin- 
ish him outright, or put him behind bars for such a 
time that he will make himself scarce when he is set 
at liberty.” 

' “Well, sir, I just told you’ns so you’ns mought be 
on gyard.” 

“I appreciate your motive in warning me ; but a 
man can’t afford to let things like that worry him. 
Such fellows are bold players at the game of bluff, 


140 Richard Gordon 

but if I hold a good hand, I make it a rule to stand 
pat.” 

The next few days passed without incident, except 
that I took Edith over to Mr. Graham's on Sunday, 
and spent the day with himself and family. I was 
impelled to this step, primarily, that Edith might es- 
cape the task of preparing edibles for the troop of 
relatives that habitually collected at the homestead 
on that day, and to avoid a repetition of the experi- 
ence I had endured on the preceding Sunday. I was 
afraid the two other daughters and their fifteen chil- 
dren might find it convenient to be present on this 
occasion. 

On the way home I endeavored to persuade Edith 
to resign her position as miller, and let Rube take 
charge of this work. But the nearest I came to suc- 
cess in that particular was to exact a promise that she 
would quit whenever the winter should set in and 
Rube could not do any out-doors work on the farm. 
Her plea was this: 

“I have done the principal part of the milling for 
the past three years, and if I should quit all at once, 
I could not help feeling that I had broken faith with 
an old friend. In that time I have grown familiar 
with, learned to love, every wheel, bolt and board in 
the dear old trap. I have even formed an attachment 
for the spiders and roaches that play hide-and-go- 
seek along its dusty walls. The rush of the water, 
the monotonous click-clack of the cogs, and the whir 
of the stones, make a concert of sounds that is like 
music to my uncultivated ear. I am so constituted 
that I must have something to do. I have always 
been a great tom-boy, and find it extremely hard, 
even now, to be compelled to lay aside marbles and 
stick horses.” 

“I should imagine that long skirts would interfere 
with the latter pastime,” I suggested 

“Yes, it was the crying necessity for longer skirts 
that finally broke up the habit of riding steeds of 


Richard Gordon 


141 

that kind.” And she laughed merrily, as she recalled 
her childhood ways. 

"Rut,” she resumed, "I suppose it is time I was 
putting aside thoughts like these. I will soon be a 
woman, and already I have promised to become one 
in less than six months from today.” 

"Edith,” said I, "I hope you don't feel that in 
taking upon yourself the responsibilities of a wife, 
you will be forced to change your own sweet self in 
any particular. It is for what you are now that I 
love you, and I want you to be ever just the same.” 

"I shall try to be; and yet I know it will seem 
strange when I am no longer known as Edith Mc- 
Lean, and people begin to call me Mrs. Gordon. That 
sounds so dignified and matronly, I am afraid it will 
be some time before I can fully realize my promo- 
tion.” 

"It will not be a promotion, but rather a transition 
from girlhood to wifehood, and the marriage cere- 
mony will simply give me the right to love, honor, 
and protect you as the infinitely superior part of my- 
self.” 

She placed her hand in mine, and it rested there, 
confidingly. 

******** 

The next day I walked out to the pasture with 
Uncle Reuben, who made it a rule to salt his grazing 
stock on Monday. In addition to a nice bunch of 
sheep, he had a dozen good steers, seven or eight 
cows and heifers, and six young mules, of different 
sizes and ages. And while the animals were licking 
the salt, he said: 

"Richard, I have lived nigh on to a hundred year, 
and in that length of time I have done a right smart 
of thinkin’. I soon found that a mar' mule was 
worth from five to ten dollars more than a horse 
mule of the same size, age, and giner’l condition. 


142 


Richard Gordon 


That’s because the female is pyerter in her actions, 
and is most always nicer formed. On t’other hand I 
discovered that a steer would fetch a better price on 
the market than a heifer of the same weight and 
grade. Then, thinks I, the pint is to raise male 
calves and female mules for the trade. So I com- 
menced to speriment on that line a leetle better than 
fifty year ago. I found out in a few years that if a 
breeder would take the pains to consult his almanac, 
and tend to his brood mar’s when the sign was above 
the bowels, he was shore to git a female colt for his 
trouble. And as proof of hit, thar is six fine young 
mar’ mules that was fetched in that way. 

“Then, when hit comes to raisin’ cattle for the 
market, I go to the almanac again, and if the sign is 
below the bowels, I breed my cows. The result is, I 
rar’ly, if ever, fail to be rewarded with a bull calf. If 
the sign aint right when they happen to need atten- 
tion, I wait until hit is, and the difference in price will 
more than off-set the loss in time. And besides, a 
steer will grow and fatten faster than a heifer. 

“Now, I aint goin’ to claim that I am smart enough 
to explain why these things are so, but I do pretend 
to have sense enough to see that they are true, because 
I have proved them. And thar is twelve head of good 
young bullocks that ought to be pretty fa’r evidence 
that thar is somethin’ in my systum. 

“The farmers in this neighborhod laughed at my 
idee powerful at first, and said, 'thar comes some of 
Reuben Ralston’s patents,’ whenever I driv my stock 
to market. But when they seed I got a beter price 
for my stuff than they did for theirn, they was mighty 
keen to find out how the trick was turned. But I 
haint never told ’em, for men was put here to do 
thar own thinkin’. I have let you’ns into the secret, 
Richard, because I have taken a likin’ to you’ns, and 
when you’ns git to be the husband of my pet child, 
you’ns mought want to be a farmer yourself, and I 


Richard Gordon 


143 

would like for you’ns to keep up my systum arter I 
am gone.” 

“You think, then, that by observing the signs of 
the zodiac, and that as a result of a series of experi- 
ments along that line, you have discovered the hither- 
to hidden secret of the sexes?” I said. 

“Well, I haint got lamin’ enough to give the thing 
a big name, but I know that by stickin’ to them two 
rules I have made many a dollar that I moughn’t 
have got if I hadn’t knowd about ’em.” 

“That idea opens up a pretty wide field for specu- 
lation and experiment. If your experience has estab- 
lished the practical results of the theory in these two 
instances, why should not similar ends be obtained in 
all other branches of stock-raising ? Indeed, why 
should not the rule apply to the human family, as 
well as to the animal kingdom?” 

“Hit mought, for aught I know ; but I haint never 
carried my project further than I’ve told you’ns. Yit'I 
reckon the plan would never work with our race, be- 
cause thar aint no market offerin’ a premium for 
gyrls or boys, and then hit would be powerful hard 
to tie men down to sich a rule. They are heady crit- 
ters, at best.” 

“I guess you are right,” I said, and we walked 
back towards the house. 

As we entered the yard we met Abner, with fishing 
pole in one hand, and something, which I could not 
see, tightly clasped in the other. His face was a study 
as he said: 

“I went fishin’ this mornin’ to the upper eend of the 
mill-pond, and I b’lieve I struck ile. Just look thar.” 

And, opening his hand, he exhibited a beautiful 
round pearl, about the size of an ordinary buckshot. 
I took the gem and examined it closely, and as far as 
I could detect with the naked eye, it was perfectly 
formed and absolutely flawless. 

“Well, Abner,” said I, “a few pearls like this would 


144 


Richard Gordon 


beat a string of suckers a mile long. How did you 
find it?” 

“I went up the crick this mornin’, but the ground 
was so dry I couldn’t git no worms for bait. So I 
tuck off my shoes, rolled up my breeches and waded 
in to ketch some craw-fish. While I was dabblin’ 
’bout in the water arter craws my foot struck against 
a mussel buried in the mud. I dug hit out with my 
toes, retched down, picked hit up and tuck hit out to 
the bank, aimin’ to cut hit up for bait. But when I 
prized the shell open I seed this thing stickin’ thar in 
the flesh of the mussel, and then I ’lowed I had had 
luck enough for one day; so I fetched hit here to let 
you’ns see hit.” 

“It is a beauty, certainly, and I would like for you 
to give me the refusal of it if you intend to offer it for 
sale.” 

“Yes, sir. I haint got no use for this thing, but I 
could find mighty good use for the money hit’s 
worth.” 

“Then suppose we drive over to town this after- 
noon and see what they will offer you for it. If I buy 
the pearl, I want you to be satisfied that I have paid 
you as much as anybody else would have given for 
it.” 

He assented to this arrangement, and, accordingly, 
we drove over to McMinnville to feel the pearl mar- 
ket. The principal jeweler of the town after weigh- 
ing and subjecting the gem to a close microscopic 
examination, offered twenty-five dollars for it. A 
professional gambler advanced the bid to thirty-five. 
My friend O’Leary squared himself, and, without be- 
ing more explicit, said he would be domned if he 
wouldn’t give a month’s salary for the prize. 

But strange as it may seem, I wanted Abner to do 
the best he could with his treasure. So after each 
succeedng bid I shook my head in such a way that 
he understood my meaning. And finally, the gambler 
stopped us as we were heading for the buggy, and 


Richard Gordon 


145 


made him an offer of forty-five dollars for the stone. 
But at this I gave him another negative shake of the 
head. 

“No,” said he, “I b’lieve I won’t sell hit yet awhile.” 

“All right,” replied the light-fingered gentleman. 
“That’s the best I’ll do,” and he turned away. 

“Well, Abner, what do you think of it now?” I 
asked. 

“I reckon if hit hadn’t been for you’ns I’d have let 
hit go long before this, for I don’t know what it’s 
woth.” 

“Neither do I ; but if you think you would be en- 
tirely satisfied with the price, I will give you fifty 
dollars for the pearl.” 

“That’s five more than anybody else has offered; 
so you’ns can take hit.” 

Thereupon I took him over to the bank and had 
that sum of money placed to the credit of Abner 
Merritt, explaining to him that it would be better to 
leave it with that institution for safe-keeping. 

His dealings with banks had been limited, and as 
he put his pass-book into his pocket, I am fully con- 
fident that he would not have exchanged places with 
a Vanderbilt or Rockefeller. 

On the way back I volunteered a little gray-beard 
advice. I knew that this was, by long odds, the 
largest sum of money that he had ever been able to 
call his own; and, moreover, unless he was very care- 
ful, it would be the last amount of any consequence 
he could ever claim. So I counselled him after this 
wise : 

“As soon as your friends and acquaintances dis- 
cover that you have this money, Abner, they will be- 
gin to flatter you with very marked attention. They 
will invite you to candy-pullings, ’possum suppers, 
potato-roastings, corn-huskings, and what not. They 
will seek to convince you that they can put you in 
the way of making ten, yes, a hundred times what 
you have; but that to accomplish this result it will 


146 


Richard Gordon 


be necessary for you to advance sums varying from 
five to twenty-five dollars to set their projects on foot. 
Wine and “mountain dew” will flow in seductive 
streamlets to addle your brain and loosen your purse 
strings, and, in the end, if you are not very cautious, 
they will have the money, while you will have paid all 
you possess for a hatful of hulls, called experience. 
Whenever this is accomplished, then you can go to 
the devil, or to hunting for pearls again. If you will 
promise to freeze to your money like a north-pole 
explorer to a hunk of whale blubber, I will take pleas- 
ure in helping you in every possible way. 

“You are old enough to think about getting mar- 
ried, and with the money I have paid you within the 
past few days, as a nest-egg, there is no good reason 
why you should not, in a short while, be able to go 
regularly into the poultry business. You have made 
a start, keep going; but hang on to your wad at all 
hazards. I have never made any brilliant stunts on 
the gridiron of finance myself, but my failures in this 
line place me in a better position to coach others. 
I can see where I missed it. Come to me whenever 
you feel tempted to touch that money; I might want 
to borrow it.” 

Abner’s face wore a puzzled expression, as I con- 
cluded, but presently he said: 

“I b’lieve you’ns is guyin’ me ’bout borryin’ the 
money; but if you’ns want hit for a leetle while, and 
will pay me int’rest on hit, I mought let you’ns take 
hit for a week or two.” 

“That’s a bargain, Abner, just keep the money un- 
til I call on you for a loan.” 

******** 

On the appointed day we commenced the work of 
surveying, and while our progress was rendered slow 
by reason of the rough conformation of the ground, 
and the presence of rank undergrowth, we still moved 


Richard Gordon 


147 


on without incident, or special hindrance. It was in 
the afternoon of the third day that we came upon a 
log cabin in the midst of a small clearing; and, on 
going round to the front door, I was informed by Ab- 
ner and others that it was the house usually occu- 
pied and claimed by my esteemed enemy Brum Le- 
gore. The doors were both securely fastened with 
chain and padlock, and, as there was no glazed win- 
dow to the house, we were put to the necessity of 
peeping through the chinks between the logs. By this 
means we ascertained that the room was entirely 
empty, there being nothing in or about the house to 
indicate that it had been recently occupied. 

According to the “calls” of the papers by which we 
were surveying, my line ran with the rough pole fence 
that enclosed the space in front of this cabin; hence 
the entire lot, or clearing, on which the house stood 
was on my land. And it was claimed by Brum Le- 
gore. It seemed that this wretch was destined to 
continue a thorn in my side. 

Upon further investigation it became apparent that 
Legore had been cutting timber from my property 
for some distance back of this inclosure, since there 
were stumps and “laps” of trees that had been felled 
within the past few weeks. The trunks of these trees 
had been hauled and dragged off on wagons and 
sleds, as there were trails of both wheels and runners 
discernible on the ground. We, however, passed 
through the inclosure, and had got some distance on 
our way, when, as I was examining a fore-and-aft 
tree, I heard the sharp report of a rifle, and simultan- 
eously my hat flew off my head, lodging in the bushes 
some ten feet away. 

I dodged, of course, fearing that the would-be as- 
sassin might aim a little lower the next time; and 
crawling on hands and knees in the direction whence 
the shot had come, I crouched behind a large decayed 
log. I had taken the precaution to fetch my Colt’s 
automatic magazine, and had drawn the weapon in 


148 


Richard Gordon 


readiness, when I caught a glimpse of a striped cot- 
ton shirt skulking off through the bushes. Taking 
the best aim possible in the circumstances, I fired, 
and the noise of my shot was immediately answered 
by a sound that was a sort of cross between a groan 
and a yell. I could hear the dead limbs cracking and 
snapping as the fellow dashed into the dense thicket 
that overspread the ground about him. And in a few 
minutes everything grew still. 


Richard Gordon 


149 


CHAPTER XI. 

This unexpected assault threw our squad into con- 
fusion, and as soon as I was satisfied that the hawk 
had flown, I went back and picked up my hat. There 
was a bullet hole as large as the end of my index fin- 
ger through both sides of the crown, and, when I 
put it on again, it could be seen that the ball had 
missed my head about an inch. It had been a pretty 
close shave, and I must confess I felt a little uncom- 
fortable. 

But I rallied my forces and marched down to the 
spot where I had seen the flash of the striped shirt. 
A little further on we found blood-spots on the leaves 
and loose stones, and upon making this discovery I 
felt a little better, since I knew I had given the cow- 
ard more than he had bargained for. I felt the com- 
forting assurance that, as I had got the better of the 
scoundrel at his own game, he would be apt to give 
me a wide berth for some time to come, even if I had 
not mortally wounded him. 

We concluded our work at sunset of the next day, 
and as Mr. Graham had been a member of our party, 
he took the matter of assault upon me greatly to 
heart, insisting that, while a man might afford to 
contend with an open enemy, there was no effective 
defense against a cowardly assassin. He urged me to 
go with him to the home of the nearest magistrate 
and get him to issue a warrant for the arrest of Brum 
Legore and Simp Suggs, charging the two with “as- 
sault with intent to commit murder.” I protested 
against taking this step, because I felt averse to any 
course that would drag Edith into court as a witness. 
But he outwitted me, and not only gained Edith's 


Richard Gordon 


150 

consent to appear as a witness, but secured her as an 
ally in carrying out his plan. 

So, yielding to pressure, I went with him to the of- 
fice of Esquire Lumpkin, made the necessary affidavit, 
and on the next day Suggs and Legore were hauled 
up for trial in the custody of the sheriff and one of his 
deputies. Brum’s features resembled those of a barn- 
yard cock that had had an hour’s altercation with an- 
other and better fowl of the same species. The bridge, 
of his nose was broken, both lips were split, and his en- 
tire countenance bore that melancholy, yellowish 
green hue which is peculiar to affairs of that nature, 
and especially to the individuals who chance to get 
the hot end of them. It was clear sailing so far as 
he was concerned, for I produced the dirk with which 
he had attacked me near the mill. He was forced to 
exhibit the wound in his wrist, which fully corrobora- 
ted my own and Edith’s testimony upon that point, and 
at once convinced the Worshipful Court that this 
timely intervention on Edith’s part had been the sav- 
ing clause for me. 

As for Suggs, the case was a little more compli- 
cated. It was shown that Legore had sought shelter 
at his home after the latter’s assault upon me ; that he 
(Suggs) had stated to others, while intoxicated, that 
he was to receive fifty dollars from Legore for put- 
ting me out of the way; and, as a key-stone to the 
arch of justice, he was required to unbutton and re- 
move his shirt, which was now, of course, a different 
one, so far as to disclose a bullet hole in his shoulder. 

When asked to explain this circumstance, he swore 
that his wife had taken umbrage at his alleged atten- 
tions to another lady ( ?) , and had thrust the tine of 
a pitchfork into his arm. 

But the Worshipful Court opined that this punct- 
ure looked rather too large to have been made by that 
means; and, besides, Simp’s wife, who was present 
at the trial, very emphatically resented this conjugal 
impeachment, declaring the statement to be a lie. 


Richard Gordon 


151 

Hence the Worshipful Court was unanimous in his 
opinion that these two men should be summarily dealt 
with. He fixed their bonds at two thousand dollars 
in each case, and issued a mittimus remanding them 
to jail to await the action of the grand jury. 

At the time the subject of having Legore and 
Suggs arraigned was first mentioned, I had hesitated 
to institute such proceedings against them, because 
I knew I had rendered myself amendable to criminal 
process by carrying, and shooting my assailant with, 
a pistol. But this difficulty was overcome by an 
agreement among my witnesses that they would not 
mention the kind of weapon I had employed on that 
occasion, and, as a sort of justifiable subterfuge, I 
took my rifle with me to the investigation, introduced 
it incidentally, to illustrate how I had acted upon be- 
ing shot at, and in this way permitted the magistrate 
to draw the natural inference that I had used this par- 
ticular weapon. 

It has always impressed me as being a fool’s dis- 
tinction that would permit a man to arm himself with 
a shotgun or rifle and take the warpath; whereas, if 
he should be caught with a pistol in his possession, no 
odds whether he be on murder bent or not, he at once 
becomes amendable to a fine of fifty dollars, together 
with cost of proceedings, and to imprisonment for a 
term not exceeding six months in jail. The up-shot is 
that when a fellow gets blood in his eye, he proceeds 
to choke his old musket with slugs or buckshot, takes 
a stand behind some convenient barricade, waits until 
his enemy’s back is turned, then pours a handful of 
compliments into his vitals. But, it is never worth 
while to question the wisdom of Solon — so I let that 
pass. 

I was not, however, quite through with Legore. 
While I had him safely immured, I instituted a suit of 
ejectment against him, and, by this action, established 
the fact that in locating his house where it stood, he 
simply occupied the position of a land thief. He had 


152 


Richard Gordon 


neither deed nor the scratch of a pen to indicate a 
color of title to the property. He belonged to that 
horde of conscienceless vagabonds who subsist at the 
expense of others ; and I had no difficulty in obtaining 
a judgment dispossessing him of the premises. 

These proceedings were quickly followed by an in- 
dictment, and when the petit jury had paid its respects 
to the pair, they found themselves under a verdict im- 
posing a fine of five hundred dollars, and imprison- 
ment for the period of ten months in jail. This sen- 
tence was light when compared with the enormity of 
the crime of which they had been guilty; yet I was 
hopeful that by the time they should have served out 
the term they would be willing to puruse more pacific 
measures in compassing their aims. 

For Brum Legore himself I had but little concern, 
since, so far as was known, he had neither wife nor 
legitimate child. His reputation was that of a gam- 
bler, illicit distiller, trespasser, and fore-and-aft liber- 
tine, who had been drummed out of the Bon Air min- 
ing district for dyed-in-wool deviltry. And while 
Suggs was neither better nor worse than his leader, 
he was still the head of a pitiable family, for whom 
I did feel some concern ; and lest his wife and children 
should be reduced to extremities during the severe 
winter months, I rode over to their little cabin and 
made the mother a gift of a sum which I thought 
would be sufficient to supply herself and children with 
necessaries until spring. At that time I knew they 
could get work and make their own support. 

I soon saw that Suggs’ wife was greatly his su- 
perior, both mentally and morally, and, while posses- 
sing a somewhat rough exterior, she was industrious, 
provident, and kind of heart. She talked with me 
freely, saying that she had tried to dissuade her hus- 
band from harboring a man of Legore’s habits, since, 
by so doing, he would be sure to fall into trouble him- 
self. As for the hardship, however, of being deprived 
of Simp’s protection and support, she candidly averred 


Richard Gordon 


153 


that his incarceration was, on the contrary, a source 
of relief, as he contributed but little to this end, and 
then only under such conditions as to create the sus- 
picion that the means was ill-got. It was apparent 
that this woman had no relish for stolen goods, and 
I was very sure that in making her this donation my 
bread had not been cast upon the waters of a Dead 
Sea. 

I was relived when this succession of vexatious or- 
deals was terminated, for experiences of this sort 
make most men restless, and tend to rob them of 
sound, healthful sleep. There are some who could 
have undergone such trials with undisturbed serenity, 
but my own nerves were tissued of more sensitive 
fiber. I felt the strain, and had begun to show it, for 
no man,' I ween, can really enjoy the knowledge that 
a price has been set upon his head, and that assassins 
may be found who seem to have a natural penchant 
for target practice. 

I remained at home pretty closely for the next 
week, and by that time the vanguard of winter had 
arrived, bivouacking on sheets of snow and ice. Re- 
membering Uncle Reuben’s promise, I bestirred my- 
self to organize a deer hunt before the favorable 
spell should' have passed. I called upon Abner to 
collect his forces, while Uncle Reuben, Rube, Edith, 
and I would furnish hound and leash. I was not yet 
in first rate trim for such an expedition, but still, as 
the weather conditions were so entirely propitious, I 
concluded that it would be better to go and take a 
good stand, rather than allow the opportunity to pass, 
and perhaps miss the sport altogether. 

So on the morning of the first snowfall our little 
band set out for an eight-mile ride among the hills. 
The party consisted of eight members — Uncle Reu- 
ben, Rube, Edith, myself, Abner, Zack Arnett, and 
two other young fellows of the neighborhood. After 
a ride of an hour and a half we reached a locality 
which deer were known to haunt, and each one’s eyes 


154 


Richard Gordon 


were bent upon detecting signs. We halted in a shel- 
tered pocket, or cove, dismounted, and hitched our 
horses and mules where they would be protected 
from the biting north wind, and proceeded about a 
half-mile further on foot. 

Here the band separated, Edith and I taking a 
stand near a small spring branch, which broke from 
the base of a rough timber-covered spur of the moun- 
tain. Uncle Reuben and Rube selected a position 
about a quarter of a mile further north, while Abner 
and the others, with the dogs, skirted the foot of Deer 
Knob, for the purpose of springing the quarry and 
driving the game towards us. We had waited, per- 
haps, three quarters of an hour before any sound save 
our own subdued voices broke the reigning stillness, 
when our patience was rewarded by that prolonged 
yelp which is such grateful melody to the hunter’s 
ear. 

“Ah!” exclaimed Edith. “There it is. Calico has 
opened, and she never sings in too high a key. Listen. 
The pups have taken up the chorus. Isn’t that a glo- 
rious orchestra?” 

And as I stood with ear acock and eye strained for 
a glimpse of the phantom-prince of the chase, I felt 
that her question had exactly described the sensation 
created by this canine concert. There is no other 
combination of sounds on earth that is capable of 
producing the same degree of enthusiasm in the 
sportsman’s breast as that which is aroused by the 
chorus of a troupe of four-footed stars. The sensa- 
tion is simply indescribable ; it must be felt to be un- 
derstood and appreciated. 

In less than five minutes from the time Calico’s 
notes broke the stillness we heard the crash of flying 
feet, as the deer dashed through the underbrush. 
With rifles in readiness we stood and waited. But 
not long; for from the thicket there bounded, wild 
with fright, the most beautiful creature of the ani- 
mal kingdom — a dappled fawn. To aim and fire 


Richard Gordon 


155 


was but as the twinkle of an eye. But my bullet had 
plowed through space, and at an angle of about forty- 
five degrees. Edith had caught my gunbarrel, and 
knocked it upwards, erclaiming: 

“Don't shoot the fawn. Give it a chance. Just 
wait." 

She had scarcely ceased speaking, when from the 
same thicket, and almost from the very spot, there 
sprang a magnificent buck, with full-grown antlers. 
Did I draw a bead, and bring him down? Not al- 
together. I stood there, shaking from head to heel, 
palsied and nerveless, while Edith, with a display of 
skill that would have done credit to a Sioux Indian, 
fired ; and the noble animal kicked up a cloud of snow, 
as it turned a somersault into a ravine. As the 
buck disappeared in the gorge I recovered my self- 
command, and started towards the spot where he 
had fallen. But Edith, shaking with laughter, said: 
“Don't be too fast. He is not dead, and a wounded 
buck is a dangerous customer. It would be best to 
give him another ball." 

Then advancing to a position from which we could 
see the struggling animal, I said : 

“You brought him down; now finish him, and take 
all the credit." 

“I don't care so much for credit as for venison," 
she replied, “but I'll put an end to his suffering." 

And with this, she put a bullet directly through the 
deer's head. I then descended into the ravine, and, 
with a hunting knife, enacted the butcher's part of 
the program. 

“Well, that beats me," I said. “You got the deer, 
and I got the ague. I could have shot the fawn with- 
out a tremor; but when this buck dashed out, I stood 
like a stock, except that I was shaking from head to 
foot. I say, Edith, what will you take to keep that?" 

“Oh, I couldn't. It's too good for us two alone. 
But, really, I didn’t know you were so susceptible to 


Richard Gordon 


156 

chills, or I should have brought along a few quinine 
capsules.'' 

And she dropped upon an old log, laughing until 
the tears glistened in her eyes. 

“But get out of there, quick," she said. “Here 
come the dogs, and they've got the game at bay. 
Quick, and maybe you'll have a chance to redeem 
yourself." 

I scrambled out of the ditch. 

Just as I reached level ground an indescribable 
scene met my gaze. A wounded, full-grown buck, 
fighting with horn and hoof, was heroically contesting 
every foot of ground with the dogs. In his efforts 
to exterminate his tormenting foes, he would wheel, 
rear and lunge viciously at any one that ventured 
within reach. His hot breath spouted in clouds of 
white vapor. Blood ran from his open mouth and 
trickled down his lacerated legs. But he was game, 
and fought like a patriot in the last ditch. Occasion- 
ally he would get in a lightning-like stroke with his 
hoof, and as a proof of its effect, a dog would go 
rolling over and over in the snow, yelping as if every 
bone in his body was broken. 

As for myself, goaded as I had been by Edith's 
ridicule, I propped my rifle against a tree, and, draw- 
ing my knife, started in to help the dogs. And I am 
sure I would have had no better sense than to do so, 
but Edith grasped my arm and held me back, saying: 

“Don't be rash, Richard; for, as I told you a while 
ago, a wounded buck is very dangerous. A cut in- 
flicted by the horn of a deer is almost sure to result in 
gangrene. Let the dogs worry him until the others 
get here, and they can finish him." 

Convinced by her manner and explanation that a 
little discretion would avail quite as much as a dis- 
play of foolhardiness, I passively took a position 
that would enable me to shoot the deer in case he 
seemed likely to get away from the dogs. He had 
already put two of them out of action, and, as Calico 


Richard Gordon 


157 


kept at a safe distance, there were only four of the 
pack that vigorously pressed the fight. But these 
four seemed to understand their busness; for, while 
two would yelp, snap, and, by feints, dash at the 
buck's head, the others would fasten their teeth in 
his flanks, and pull him down on his haunches. This 
only drove the buck to greater desperation, as he 
would then wheel upon the two dogs at his flanks 
and strike at them with a swiftness and force that 
would certainly have left him master of the field, had 
the blows landed. 

But the hounds were veterans; and as the buck 
lunged with his sharp hoofs, they would drop flat 
upon their bellies, while the other two fastened upon 
his hind legs, and jerked him backwards. The con- 
test, however, seemed too unequal, and a feeling of 
pity for the brave animal induced me to send a bullet 
through his head, and thus terminate the one-sided 
struggle. 

At this time the other members of the party came 
up, and, after beating the dogs off, they cut the deer's 
throat in order that the carcass might be drained of 
blood. This done, the other deer was then brought 
from the ravine, and Abner and Zack went back for 
two extra horses that we had fetched along to pack 
home such game as we might be fortunate enough to 
secure. 

One carcass was then strapped across each horse, 
and we turned our faces homeward. In the division 
of the spoils, we gave the larger portion to the beat- 
ers, upon the promise that they would join us in an- 
other hunt a little later. 

CHAPTER XII. 

In this usually temperate climate the cool spells 
that invariably occur in December are, happily, of 
short duration, and on the second day after our deer 
hunt the snow had entirely disappeared. With the 


158 Richard Gordon 

two fellows, Legore and Suggs, safely, if not congen- 
ially, hibernating behind bars, I had but little cause 
to apprehend trouble of a personal nature. So I 
sought the aid of Mr. Graham, Abner, and the tenant, 
Akers, in my further efforts to “procession” my tim- 
ber land. We had surveyed it, but had not taken the 
time to establish permanent markers; and, while I 
had been around the tract, I had not been over it. 
Therefore, I spent the greater part of the next two 
weeks riding through and about the property, in 
order that I might be able to form some idea as to 
the character and quality of timber with which it was 
covered. I found, to my gratification, that it was 
thickly set with oak, poplar, ash, and walnut, and in 
addition to this valuable feature, there were, in many 
places, unmistakable surface indications of coal de- 
posits. 

Some time during the third week in December I 
was called to the telephone, and, upon responding, 
was requested to drive over to town to meet a gentle- 
man, who desired to see me on a matter of private 
business. Upon reaching McMinnville I was in- 
formed by Col. Mayhue that an agent of a Pennsyl- 
vania lumber company was in town seeking options 
on timber lands in that community, and if I desired 
to sell, I could probably realize a good profit on the 
investment. But after canvassing the matter pretty 
thoroughly, I declined to depose of the property, 
either by granting an option or by outright sale. 

My reason for declining to sell was two-fold. I 
did not need the money at that time, and would not 
have known how to reinvest it had I been able to 
effect a satisfactory sale. And besides, the ownership 
of this land was my sole excuse for lingering in that 
locality. If I should sell it my relatives and friends 
would begin to ask embarrassing questions as to my 
reasons for not coming home. I felt that, all things 
considered, I had secured about as pleasant an abode 
as I wanted, for the time being. 


Richard Gordon 


159 


The laconic emissary of the aforesaid syndicate 
had affected a degree of nonchalant that might have 
reflected credit upon the Sphink itself ; but in spite 
of his praiseworthy efforts in that direction, it was 
apparent that he was anxious to leave town with 
some registered evidence of a successful transaction 
in his possession. He had begun negotiations by of- 
fering two hundred and fifty dollars for a six-months' 
option on the land at twelve thousand dollars ; and be- 
fore I left, had made a direct offer of fourteen thou- 
sand in cash. 

But the only satisfaction I gave him was the as- 
surance that, in case I should conclude to sell, I would 
communicate with the syndicate which he represent- 
ed, and ascertain if an agreement could be reached as 
to price at that time. With this in view I took note 
of his own address and that of the lumber company; 
and as he had succeeded in making two purchases of 
other tracts in the immediate vicinity of my own 
land, I had no doubt but that further negotiations 
relative to the matter would ensue at an early date. 

As the Christmas holidays were approaching, I 
had determined to m^ke Edith a present that would 
be fitting and suitable, yet in keeping with my mod- 
erate means. Conformably to this purpose, I sent the 
pearl which I had bought from Abner to a reliable 
jewelry firm in New York City, with instructions to 
make a necklace of linked gold, and a pendent brooch 
of six brilliants, with the pearl for a center-piece. 
And at the same time I placed an order with this 
firm for a solitaire diamond ring, directing that on 
the inner side of the band the word “Kismet” should 
be engraved. 

In due time the package arrived by express, and 
the two ornaments came fully up to my expectations. 
To a person of wealth they might have appeared 
somewhat mediocre; yet I felt reasonably sure that 
Edith would accept and,, appreciate them as the tangi- 
ble proof of my devotion to her. In the entire time 


160 Richard Gordon 

since my acquaintance with her began I had never 
seen her wearing any article of jewelry, and, while I 
did not think she stood in need of such things, I knew 
that most girls were more or less fond of some dis- 
play in that line. It was barely possible, I thought, 
that she might cherish some aversion to personal 
ornament, but still, I concluded to take the risk oi 
that in the belief that she would regard my offering 
in the customary light — as a token of that homagt 
which a man should feel for her whom he intends t( 
make his wife. 

When Christmas came I was prepared, to some ex- 
tent, to furnish each member of the household with 
proof of my appreciation of past and present kind- 
nesses. To Uncle Reuben I gave several pounds of 
both smoking and chewing tobacco, and was con- 
vinced by his manner that I could not have chosen a 
gift that would have been more to his liking. To 
Rube I presented a heavy, knappy overcoat, know- 
ing that to the average farmer the possession of such 
an article of apparel is a special source of pride and 
comfort. Zeb, besides various and sundry things in 
the line of edibles and fireworks, became the recipient 
of a pair of red-top boots, and # a plush cap, with ear 
flaps; while Aunt Molly and Nan were remembered 
with gifts that were suited to their respective needs 
and uses. The selection of these latter things I in- 
trusted to Edith’s taste, as I knew she was much bet- 
ter qualified to choose presents for members of her 
own sex than I was. 

After these presents had been distributed I led 
Edith into my room, and, tying a handkerchief over 
her eyes, requested her to wait, while I got out the 
little package which contained the gifts I had for her. 
As she stood with bandaged eyes I slipped the ring on 
her finger, unfastened two buttons at the top of her 
dress and placed the chain and brooch about her 
graceful white neck. I then untied the handkerchief 
and led her up to the mirror. 


Richard Gordon 161 

She stood for a few moments as if bewildered. She 
glanced at the image of the brooch in the glass, then, 
lifting her hand, she gazed intently at the ring, with 
its single sparkling stone. 

“Richard, surely these ornaments were not in- 
tended for me?” 

“They were not intended to ornament you, Edith. 
They were designed as gifts to be ornamented by 
you. I think I shall like the combination and effect. 
Will you not accept them for my sake?” 

She raised her arms, and, interlocking her fingers 
at the back of my neck, laid her head on my shoulder 
and wept. Her dark wavy hair brushed my cheek as 
she stood there sobbing. 

I placed my hand under her chin, lifted her head, 
and asked: 

“Edith, my love, what has distressed you? Have 
I been so unfortunate as to wound your feelings?” 

“No, no, Richard; I am simply silly. Excessive 
happiness always makes me cry. Don’t think me un- 
grateful, for my heart is overflowing with joy at your 
kindness. But, unfortunately for me, where others 
would beam with delight, I must begin to sob and 
choke, because I can’t express my pleasure.” 

I took her sweet face between my hands and kissed 
the tears away. 

“There; don’t cry. It distresses me to see you af- 
fected in that manner.” 

I smoothed the hair back from her temples, raised 
her head, and fastened the neck-band of her dress 
over the brooch. 

“Do just as you like about wearing the brooch,” 
said I, “but I hope you will permit the ring to remain 
where I have placed it. It is the visible pledge of our 
betrothment.” 

“Yes, and I shall wear it as you suggest, for, by 
having it as a constant reminder, I hope I may be the 
better able to meet the new life that is opening up 
for me. The beautiful, precious thing!” 


Richard Gordon 


162 

“Edith, I had some misgiving in offering you these 
things, because I had never seen you wearing a ring 
or jewel of any sort, and was fearful that you might 
have some antipathy for ornaments in general. They 
cannot adorn you ; they will merely help to form a 
constellation with your sweet self as the central at- 
traction.” 

“I have no prejudice against jewels. I admire 
them greatly. But I have always regarded them as 
things that were beyond my reach, and, for that rea- 
son, not to be coveted. I was bewildered when I 
saw what you had done; the gift was so unexpected. 
Now let me run and show them to Aunt Molly and 
Grandpa. I wonder what the latter will say. Take 
that — that — and that as a slight proof of my grati- 
tude.” 

In ordinary circumstances I should have been puz- 
zled by Edith’s manner when she first beheld the 
presents. But I had made it a rule to study her char- 
acter — to acquaint myself, as well as possible, with 
its manifold phases, moods, and peculiarities. That 
she was eccentric I could easily perceive; but her ec- 
centricities were neither the fruits of caprice nor the 
whims of selfishness. These very oddities of tem- 
perament endeared her the more to me, for, in pro- 
portion as she was unlike others, just to that extent 
was she peculiarly herself. Her manner was ingen- 
uous and sincere, her language unambiguous and di- 
rect, while her every thought, every act, was born of 
an impulse as guileless and as chaste as it was pos- 
sible for human mind to be. 

There were depths in her nature which I knew full 
well I had not yet fathomed — depths, indeed, which 
it might require a life-time to sound; and yet I was 
persuaded that each sealed chamber would reveal to 
the “open sesame” of gentlemanly behest that wealth 
which ever adorns pure womanhood. 

Her humble, unpretentious home life, isolated as it 
was by a sense of indefinable but apprehended calam- 


Richard Gordon 


163 


ity, condemned her to a state of double orphanism. 
It was apparent that her good sense compelled her to 
admit her superiorly to the common herd; but still 
this power of discernment was outweighed by a feel- 
ing of duty infinitely stronger than self or self-love. 
Suspecting, yet never confirming, this, to her, name- 
less weight of family opprobium, she had evidently 
chosen, unto a day, a life of self-abnegation, of per- 
sonal sacrifice. 

But withal, Edith was intensely human. At the 
touch of my hand the warm blood of passion would 
surge through her veins; her rounded bosom would 
rise and fall as the billows of a moonlit sea; and her 
breath would come rapidly, as if hurrying, fruit and 
incense-laden, from the treasures of some unex- 
plored tropical isle. 

She had an inexpressible longing for a heart on 
which she could lean, in which she might confide; 
and the principle of maternity within her was co-ex- 
istent and concurrent with the flood-tide of her broad- 
ening life. 

In her psychological conformation there was neith- 
er the element of marble, nor yet that of wax; but 
a concrete entity, or essense, as pure as alabaster, as 
chaste as sea-foam. Despite her strength of will, fix- 
edness of purpose, and utter fearlessness of heart, by 
nature, she was tenderly affectionate, and, like a vine 
which, by some mischance, had been set in the shade, 
her arms would entwine my neck, as tendrils seeking 
support and the sunlight of affection. And I loved 
her with the whole strength of my soul. 

In a few minutes she came back, and I saw that 
her face wore an expression of seriousness, if not 
of sadness. 

“Well, what did Grandpa say?” I asked. 

“He said these were ‘powerful fine trinkets for a 
country gyrl/ and I could not help admitting that he 
was correct.” 

“And by so doing, you vastly undervalue your fit- 


164 


Richard Gordon 


ness and worth. Edith, you are too conscientious. 
If people in this country were condemned to wear 
only such things as they are morally fitted to wear, 
jewels and jewelers’ shops would be as scarce as 
truth in trade or piety in the pulpit.” 

“At any rate, I am going to keep and wear them, 
and set them up as standards, emblems of purity. If 
I fall below my aim, I shall at least feel better for 
having done my best.” 

“Edith, I was thinking while you were gone that 
this earth had never disclosed to me a gem that was 
comparable to your soul, and whenever you talk 
that way you make me feel like a criminal. Just as 
you feel towards these trinkets — for that’s what they 
are — so I feel towards you. I am not worthy of you, 
and my sole excuse for asking you to become my 
wife was the hope that your influence might make a 
passable imitation of a man of me.” 

“Then,” said she, “pardon a poor paraphrase, — - 

The most I had has left my breast; 

When spring-tide comes you’ll take the rest. 

However unequal the exchange, it is like the wid- 
ow’s mite ; and I trust you will not despise it.” 

And again entwining my neck with her warm, white 
arms, she added : 

“I am absolutely blessed. I shall have all — the 
promise of everything — to love and to live for.” 

I knew what she meant. That was the voice of the 
woman, the cry of the mater. Had I been less than 
a man I might have taken advantage of her one weak- 
ness — betrayed her trust. But I had pledged my hon- 
or to wait until May, when I should call Edith my 
own, and, no matter what the temptation, I would 
fulfill that promise. 

There was a nameless yearning in the depths of her 
softened eyes, a blast of passion in the perfume of her 
labored breathing, and I felt a tremor of the human 


Richard Gordon 165 

shake and thrill her exquisite form, as I pressed her 
tumultous bosom to my own breast. 

Think and say what you will, but there are times 
in the lives of most men when it requires no slight ef- 
fort, no mean display of self-control, to respect inno- 
cence and maintain Honor on her throne. My own 
struggle was terrific — but I won. 

“Edith, your honor is dearer to me than my own 
life.” 

“Then save me irom myself,” she pleaded, as she 
clung to me, sobbing, helpless. 

“I will. Let’s go and make Grandpa’s egg-nog.” 

In a moment she had regained her self-control, and 
together we left the room. 

I have always thought, and have had cogent rea- 
sons for believing, that there is no barrier known to 
womankind that is so strong, no intrenchment so com- 
pletely impregnable, but that it will be ready to crum- 
ble and capitulate at the calm approach, the quiet sum- 
mons of one man. 

In a majority of instances, happily, this psycho-car- 
nal treaty may be formed under the sanction of cus- 
tom, law, and order ; yet, in the absence of such bonds, 
the heart-welded twain will become a law unto them- 
selves, nor feel a shock of violated conscience. This 
truth is by no means a cause for reproach. It is but a 
witness of the presence of the animal — the human — 
in the species. To borrow a popular allegory, if it 
were not so, the story of Eden would be a meaning- 
less myth, a pithless fable. And I am forced to think 
that the part with which the devil is credited in that 
affair is, by long odds, the best deed that was ever 
performed for the race. 

Both mankind and womankind are, at some points, 
easily vulnerable; but these weak spots are like the 
presence of cows’ hairs in prints of fresh butter. They 


1 66 


Richard Gordon 


may not be altogther desirable, yet they certainly 
constitute prima facie proof of the genuineness of the 
commodity. The fewer the capillary tubes the better 
for the butter, the fewer the faults the better for the 
individual ; but I had much rather see some, than not 
to be able to detect any. For cow hairs are not pois- 
onous, nor would they even be harmful, unless taken 
in overdoses. A faultless human being would be more 
than apt to perish of sheer solitude. 

I had discovered the one frail point in Edith's burn- 
ished armor. I alone was responsible for the exist- 
ence of this weak spot; and I had once pledged her 
my honor, upon the memory of my mother, that I 
would neither deceive nor betray her. She should not 
be victimized by my desires, nor blighted by the si- 
moon of her own. In point of years she was yet a 
child, and when we were married I would be to her 
a husband, a protector, a counsellor, a friend. She 
should know no sorrow that I could prevent, no shame 
that I could forefend. 

Edith’s insulated, defenseless condition, instead of 
tempting me to abuse my privileges, merely riveted 
the more firmly my purpose to regulate my conduct 
towards her by a strict standard of propriety and 
honor. She had never enjoyed the boon of elderly 
female counsel, and, as a consequence, whatever she 
might know of the matters which pertained to her sex, 
must have been culled by her own unguided hand 
from the wild vines of Nature’s random flora. This 
knowledge was, forsooth, worth something intrinsic- 
ally; but it was not of sufficient scope to render her 
worldly-wise. 

There was one thing, however, I was determined 
she should fully understand, namely, that no form of 
frailty or passion should tempt me to anticipate wed- 
lock, and filch from her her priceless crown- jewel. 
We would have no quasi-legitimate off -spring. And 
when I saw that she had grown reserved and em- 
barrassed in her manner towards me since morning, I 


Richard Gordon 


167 


made up my mind to set her aright as to my own po- 
sition. I did not think there was any common-sense 
reason why I should not frankly tell her how matters 
stood with me, nor did I propose to permit a feeling 
of false modesty to deter me from my duty towards 
her. 

So, taking advantage of the first opportunity — 
which occasion presented itself immediately after sup- 
per — I conducted her to my room, and there told her, 
in plain speech, how I felt. 

“Edith,” said I, “it has been patent to me that you 
have spent this Christmas day more or less unhappily, 
and I don't want it to close with your mind in that 
state. So let me talk while you listen. 

“We represent the two sexes. My impulses are 
those of a man ; yours those of a woman ; and, as 
common experience has shown, the weaker of the two ; 
frailer in one sense, but stronger in another. This is 
as it should be, and no man with a grain of sense 
would attach the slightest blame to you for having 
revealed the depth and strength of your passions. 
Whatever else may be said of me, I have the mastery 
over myself in that regard, and, so long as I shall be 
able to retain it, you need have no fear of results as 
to yourself. 

“I told you sometime since that no condition should 
arise that could induce me to take advantage of your 
love and confidence, and I intend to adhere to that 
promise, no odds what the struggle. And these are 
my reasons: In the first place, I love you, honor and 
respect you; and besides, I believe your affection for 
me is of a personal sort, and that no other man could 
have aroused in your nature the same degree of pas- 
sion that you cherish for me. Finally, if I should 
so far lose control of myself as to demand, or even to 
accept, a surrender of your virginal self, death in 
some form might overtake me before marriage, and 
leave you to a life of sorrow and remorse. To me you 
are as sacred as a vestal virgin, and until the proper, 


Richard Gordon 


i 68 

legal ceremony shall make us one, it will be my special 
pride to know that you have remained inviolate. Now, 
put aside your gloomy feelings, and tell me I have 
your unreserved trust.” 

“I did not distrust you, Richard, for that would 
have been impossible after what you did. I was out 
of humor with myself, and felt that you must have 
been both surprised and shocked at my weakness and 
lack of self-control. And when I had had time to re- 
flect, I was puzzled and mystified, for I had never ex- 
perienced that feeling before. I could not understand 
why I had given way to that sort of an impulse ; and 
I was afraid I had forfeited your respect — that you 
would think bad, bad things of me.” 

As she said this she pressed my face to her bosom 
convulsively. He heart was beating fiercely, yet her 
voice was calm. 

“Then promise not to permit yourself to feel that 
way again. I have tried to tell you how I regard 
such matters in your case; and I trust nothing may 
arise hereafter that could create suspicion, coolness, 
or aversion. If things should occur that you do not 
understand, come to me for an explanation, and there 
need never be ground for distrust.” 

“Richard, I believe you once tried to make me think 
you didn’t have one half as much sense as you’ve got. 
Why did you do that?” 

Amused at this display of naivete , I said : 

“Maybe the lick on my head did knock me wool- 
gathering for a while, and my silliness was not as- 
sumed.” 

“That isn’t exactly what I mean. For some time 
after you came here you didn’t seem to care whether 
you displayed any force of character or not. You 
impressed me as being somewhat reckless and cyni- 
cal in your views of people and things in general. 
But you have changed notably of late, and now you 
talk as though you were forty years of age.” 


Richard Gordon 


169 


“Honestly, I can't realize that any change has taken 
place in my way of thinking and acting ; but if such a 
change has really occurred, it must be due to the fact 
that I have had a sort of rough-and-tumble experience 
within the past few weeks ; and then, to cap the climax, 
I am hopelessly entangled in a net of silk-and-gold 
meshes, that I would not break through and escape 
from if I could. So I reckon I have toned down." 

“Ah, there is the same old roguish raillery. You 
are not altogether tamed yet. But never mind, I'll 
use the curb-bit after a while, and convert you into an 
old woman's hack." 

“Agreed. If you’ll only do the driving, I shall 
neither champ the bit nor object to the pace. But 
since you have mentioned it, I believe I am beginning 
to take a soberer view of things. Before I left home 
others had done most of the thinking for me ; but since 
I came here I have endeavored to do a little of that 
sort of thing for myself, and have found it very agree- 
able exercise. It is good for a fellow ; it keeps him 
from stagnating. Besides, if a man can think, he can 
generally do; and this is absolutely necessary in or- 
der to keep others from doing him. I see you don’t 
understand this slang; but it means that a fellow must 
keep his eyes open and his purse closed, or he will 
wake up some fine morning and find himself not only 
fleeced, but skinned. These latter-day saints are not 
satisfied with the wool of lambs; they want the hide, 
too. And more than that, they wouldn't object to a 
liberal lump of suet once in a while, just to keep their 
hands from getting chapped. 

“Then, too, I have done some meditating upon the 
subject of our future; and this I have found to be the 
pleasantest of all channels of thought. Of course it 
is but natural to think that Grandpa cannot live a great 
while longer, and I have wondered if you would pre- 
fer to reside here after his death. I know you must 
ever have a tender spot in your heart for the old home 
and its surroundings ; and yet I cannot think these 


170 


Richard Gordon 


things are quite equal to your deserts. You are fitted 
to see and enjoy other, and some better, things; and 
if Grandpa will let you off for a few days, I intend to 
give you a trip after we are married; then well come 
back and spend the summer here.” 

“How glorious! But just think of Edith McLean, 
the dusty miller girl, whirling through space on a 
bridal tour ! Richard, I don’t believe I have the cour- 
age to undertake it. I know I should fall off the 
train, tumble down some elevator shaft, or get run 
over by the street cars. And as for the great city 
hotels, you might as well blind-fold me and turn me 
loose in the catacombs of Egypt, and expect me to find 
my way home, as to imagine I could keep my brain 
clear in such a labyrinth of halls, rooms, etc. The 
very thought makes me shudder.” 

“You feel that way now, but you have no idea how 
quickly you would catch on and get accustomed to 
such things. It would not be two days until you felt 
quite as much at ease as you do in the mill; and then, 
any girl who can run a grist mill should be able to out- 
run a street car and not half try.” 

“Now, you are poking fun at me. If you don’t 
stop that I won’t go, I’m sure.” 

“I’ll retract — take it all back, and we will make up 
our minds about the little trip later. But I am jealous 
of your fair name, Edith, even among homefolk. It 
is now half past nine o’clock, and I don’t want any 
member of the family to utter a breath of scandal 
against you, nor even to think it. Good night. Think 
none the less kindly of me for what I have said to you ; 
it was meant for our mutual good. If I had not loved 
you I should not have told you such things.” 

“Richard, you have a sorrel horse’s head on your 
shoulders and the heart of a full-grown man in your 
breast. I know what you mean. Good night.” 

Scandal! Slander! ’Tis a villainous thing. It is 
like the trail of a serpent in the dust; for, unless one 
should see the reptile in passing, he may not know 


Richard Gordon 


171 

which direction it has taken; nor when nor where to 
expect the sting. The only safety lies in a shot-gun, 
and the spunk to pull the trigger. 

When Edith was gone I meditated upon what I had 
said to her. I might have said more; I was glad I 
had not said less. For it was apparent that, whilst in 
matters of a practical sort she needed no instruction 
from me, yet, as to things that pertained to herself 
and her sex, she was but little more than a child. 
She had been ignorant as to the force of her own pas- 
sions, because their hidden depths had never been 
stirred before. But her appeal had not been made in 
vain when she creid, “Save me from myself.” 


172 


Richard Gordon 


CHAPTER XIII. 

The months of January and February passed, as 
I thought, very slowly; for, even in the most ordinary 
circumstances, a practical continuation of snow and 
ice is a condition not to be ardently desired. I often 
found myself growing restless under the restraint im- 
posed by the protracted cold weather, and in order to 
break the monotony I took the train at McMinnville 
and ran down to Murfreesboro for a week’s visit to 
relatives. 

While there I made it a point to apprise my uncle 
and aunt of the engagement between Edith and my- 
self; and as I had induced my fiancee to have a half- 
dozen cabinet photographs taken, I gave one to my 
aunt that she might be able to form some idea as to 
the kind of selection I had made. 

I have never been rash enough to attempt a de- 
scription of a woman’s dress, but I remember that for 
this particular sitting Edith had worn a white gown 
of some light material, rather low at the neck — semi- 
decollete , I believe they call it ; and the result was, 
like the living model, a thing of perfect beauty. 

When I handed the picture to my aunt, she said : 

"Dick, I must keep this. If the photo is not a great 
flatterer, you have drawn a prize. I have never seen 
such strikingly lovely features.” 

"Yes, Aunt; but that isn’t all. She’s got more 
good common sense than a ship-load of painted but- 
terflies.” 

"Then, I’m sure I shall be proud of my new niece.” 

Such was the verdict of my aunt, who was a hand- 
some woman herself, and it had required a girl of 
more than ordinary attractiveness to measure up to 


Richard Gordon 


173 


her standard. The picture captivated her completely, 
and she gave it a conspicuous place on the mantel in 
the sitting room. 

So Edith, the miller girl, was beginning to excite 
comment and admiration beyond the compass of her 
native hills. 

I had written my sister at Louisivlle, informing 
her of the state of my affairs, and to her, also, I sent 
one of Edith's photographs. In a short time after 
my return to my adopted home I received a letter, ac- 
knowledging the arrival of mine, together with the 
picture. A few excerpts therefrom may convey some 
idea as to how the news was taken in that quarter : 

“My Dear, Lucky Scamp of a Brother: 

“I have ever felt that you were born under a pro- 
pitious star. You never tumbled into a scrape but 
that Fortune must, in some way, turn it to your ad- 
vantage. 

“Do I think Edith beautiful? If the photo you send 
is, in the least degree, a faithful likeness, I venture 
to say (sub rosa) that there are few girls, even in the 
far-famed blue-grass region of this State, who would 
be fitted to serve as her brides-maids. 

“My fondest hope is that her mind and heart may 
be in perfect harmony with the loveliness of her face. 
Bring her to see us. Devotedly your sister, 

Meredith/' 

I told Edith what my aunt had said, and read to her 
the letter I had received from my sister. When I had 
finished reading this letter tears, like distilled dia- 
monds, were clinging to her long, dark lashes. 

“Richard, I couldn’t refuse to take a trip with you 
after that — I want to see and know those who could 
think and say such lovely things of me. I trust they 
may not be disappointed.” 

“I don’t feel any uneasiness on that score,” I re- 
plied. And I did not. 


i74 


Richard Gordon 


On the 28th of March an incident occurred which 
stood, and still stands, without a parallel in the known 
history of this country. We had enjoyed about ten 
days of ideal spring weather. Farmers everywhere 
had been busy turning the soil in anticipation of an 
early seeding. But this happy augury was thwarted 
by rain, which began to fall a short while after sun- 
set, and continued, without cessation, for two nights 
and as many days. The small streams were converted 
into raging torrents, the rivers into almost boundless 
floods. Uncle Reuben would stride back and forth 
through the passage, then stop and shake his head 
ominously. 

“I have lived here many a long year,” said he, “but 
I haint never seed nothin' like this before. I am pow- 
erul feard hit will ruin us.” 

And it did seem that another deluge was imminent, 
the difference between the present and the ancient 
catastrophe being, that in this instance Noah had, to 
my knowledge, received no advice from headquarters 
to make ready his ark, or to collect his menagerie ; and 
the result of this oversight was, that quite a lot of 
valuable live-stock was swept away and drowned. 
Yet even this was not the full extent of the calamity. 

I was sitting in my room on the afternoon of the 
second day of the protracted cloud-burst, trying to 
read; but looking out of the window I saw that the 
rain was descending in veritable torrents. The down- 
pour was so dense I could not see ten steps from the 
house ; and, to render the scene more harrowing, there 
occurred at intervals of only a few seconds, blinding 
flashes of lightning and terrific peals of thunder. I 
laid my magazine aside and began to wonder when the 
infernal business would end. Suddenly I heard the 
door flung open, and in rushed Uncle Reuben, with 
pallid, terror-stricken face. He was followed by 
Aunt Molly and the two children, who were crying 
and wringing their hands in distress. 

“Copie, Richard, for God's sake, come quick. The 


Richard Gordon 


175 


child went down to the mill a while ago, and she can't 
get back. If we'ns don't fetch her out, she'll be 
drowned. The water has done cut her off." 

The poor old man's voice trembled, and his frame 
shook with agony. I needed no further urging, but, 
flinging off my coat, I drew on my hunting jacket, 
and bolted out of the room like a madman. I ran to- 
wards the barn, intending to mount a horse and res- 
cue Edith in that way. But when I got half way to 
that building, I found that the water had risen until 
it was more than six feet in depth between me and 
the horses. I was almost stunned by this discovery; 
but I realized that something had to be done, and that 
quickly. So I turned back and ran towards the house, 
calling for a rope as I came. 

“Look in the wood-shed," screamed Uncle Reuben, 
“and for God's sake, hurry." 

I rushed in, caught up two cotton plow-lines, and 
struck off to the mill as fast as my legs could carry 
me. I tied the two lines together as I ran, and when I 
had got near enough to see and realize the situation, 
my heart seemed literally turned into a lump of ice. 

I could see Edith standing upright on the window- 
sill, while the yellow flood poured out between and 
around her feet. And every moment it was rising. 
The mill door was open, and I could see that the water 
was already between three and four feet in depth on 
the floor of the room. My mind acted as it had never 
done before. I seemed to grasp the situation at a 
glance. A few moments' delay, and the mill would be 
swept from its base, and Edith with it. 

I stood on an elevation about thirty feet from the 
door of the building, while the water rushed down the 
sunken road below me with such swirling swiftness 
that I knew it would sweep me off my feet if I de- 
pended on my own weight and strength. But, fortu- 
nately, a small walnut tree stood immediately at the 
edge of the embankment, and rapidly tying one end 
of the rope around my waist, I fastened the other to 


176 


Richard Gordon 


this tree. I then tore up a large stone and heaved it 
upon my shoulder. Weighed down with this extra 
burden, I plunged into the angry flood. At first it ran 
only waist deep, but as I waded on the channel grew 
deeper. 

Above the hoarse roar of the maddened waters I 
could hear the sweet voice of Edith calling me, and 
God knew I would rescue her, or perish with her. 

Uncle Reuben and the others were now on the bank 
behind me urging me on ; but I gave no heed to what 
they said. I fought my way onward, slowly and with 
desperation. The water was now lashing my neck, 
and drifting logs, rails, and other things beat my face 
cruelly. I shouted to Edith, begging her to come to 
the door. If I should lose my footing, she must die. 
I drove my feet into the softened earth, hoping to 
thus brace myself until I could reach the platform. 
But the rope was too short by several feet ; and when 
I had got to the end I saw Edith coming towards me, 
waist deep in the water. 

I encouraged her, pleaded with her to come out on 
the submerged platform, and jump. She held on to 
the door-facing, steadying herself for a moment, then 
taking one step forward, she leaped towards me. As 
she made the spring I dropped the stone and caught 
her in my arms. 

By this time the water was so deep I was forced to 
stand on tip-toe to keep it from strangling me. But I 
held Edith safely above the current, and the brave 
girl pushed and warded off the shooting drift-wood 
that had so mercilessly cut and torn my face as I came 
over. Directing her to cling to me, I caught hold of 
the rope, and by a hand-over-hand process, made my 
way back to the bank. And Edith was saved. 

Those on the bank grasped the shivering girl by the 
arms and quickly drew her out of the water. What 
with the battering of the drift and the fierce struggle 
with the tide, I was almost exhausted, and was com- 
pelled to stand for several moments in the water be- 


Richard Gordon 


i 77 


fore I could regain strength enough to even attempt to 
draw myself out. But Edith was not the girl to for- 
sake a fellow in my plight. Throwing one arm around 
the tree, she reached down, and, catching hold of my 
hand, pulled me onto the bank. 

This aid was extended not one minute too soon, for, 
as I stood on the ground, dripping and panting, the 
very flood-gates of Old Ocean herself seemed to have 
given way, and a tidal wave fully three feet higher 
came rolling down on us. We beat a hasty retreat up 
the hill to escape the fearful on-rush; and as this 
added volume of water struck the mill, we heard its 
timbers crash. The old structure quivered for a mo- 
ment, then toppled over on its side, and floated down 
the stream. 

I glanced at Edith. Her face was of a deathly pale- 
ness ; her hands were clasped; and in a voice between 
a wail and a sob, she said : 

“It’s gone.” 

I put my arm around her and started towards the 
house. On the way up I asked her why she had ven- 
tured down to the mill at such a time, and her expla- 
nation was that she was fearful the building might be 
washed away, unless the door, the gate, and the win- 
dows were opened so that the water could pass 
through. She thought that if this was done the struc- 
ture would offer less resistance to the flood than if 
they were left closed. When she went down the water 
had not yet got up to the floor, nor was it even run- 
ning over the road in front of the mill. But she found 
that the bolts and other fastenings to one of the win- 
dows had rusted from disuse, and by the time she 
had succeeded in dislodging them the water had risen 
so rapidly her retreat was cut off. Her idea as to the 
matter of resistance was correct, I suppose, but the 
risk she took was certainly too great for the good she 
might have accomplished by removing it. 

Rube had been running the mill for the past three 
months or more; but he was at this time absent from 


i 7 8 


Richard Gordon 


home on some matter of business, and, as I had per- 
suaded Edith to leave it alone, it was not then in op- 
eration. Her attachment, however, for the old trap 
and her anxiety to see that everything had been done 
to assure its safety, in case of emergency, had im- 
pelled her to hazard her own life to compass that end. 
I did not care a continental for the mill, and would 
not of my own accord have waded into the water up 
to my middle to insure it. But Edith was in it, and 
I would have breasted any wave to rescue her. 

I might have swum out to the building, and could 
easily have done so ; inasmuch as I had not spent days 
floundering in Ransom’s mill-pond to no purpose; but 
I knew that swimming against such a rush of waters, 
the foaming surface of which was covered with bat- 
tering rams in the form of drift, would have more 
than one element of incertitude. Besides, I could not 
afford to attempt a grand-stand play while Edith’s 
life hung in the balance. And I am persuaded now 
that it was well for her that I did not take that course. 

But I hurried to the house as rapidly as possible, for 
Edith was shivering, and I was not oppressed with 
heat. Upon reaching the house I pulled her into my 
room and hauled out the bottle of whiskey. Pouring a 
glass about half full I urged her to drink it, and I 
gulped as much more. Conformably to previous 
agreement, I allowed her to pour out my dram, but 
took particular pains to give the bottle a tilt while 
she was doing it. 

“Now, Edith,” said I, "bolt up to your room and 
shuck those wet duds, and I’ll do likewise.” 

Neither of us had on a dry thread, and as soon as 
she was gone, I peeled off my clothes, for they were 
sticking to me as fraternally as the historic shirt of 
Nessus. When I had drawn on my under-suit, I 
glanced at myself in the mirror, and my face and neck 
looked as if I had just come out of a somewhat ani- 
mated prize-ring colloquy. The left side of my face 
in particular presented the appearance of having been 


Richard Gordon 


179 


accorded special attention by some skillful fistic de- 
bater. But with the exception of these cuts and 
bruises I suffered no inconvenience from my baptis- 
mal experience. I merely fetched a few boot-shaking 
sneezes, and the thing was all over. The whiskey 
had steamed the chill out of me. 

In a short while thereafter Edith came down with 
both arms full of drenched garments, which she took 
to the kitchen to be dried at the fire-place. My own 
wet clothes I hung on the backs of chairs in my own 
room, that they might undergo the same sort of kiln- 
ing process. After this I went out to take a more 
comprehensive view of the flood situation. 

It had about ceased raining, but the waters had not 
begun to subside. The barn, with its contents, was 
the object of the greatest solicitude, for Edith’s horse 
was in it, as were also several of the farm horses and 
mules. The building stood on a considerable emi- 
nence, but between it and the dwelling there was a sag 
or depression, and through this the water was flow- 
ing, thus forming an island of the barn and the small 
spot on which it was located. And while I stood there 
Edith, Uncle Reuben and the others came out, the 
faces of all showing marks of keen anxiety. 

“Well, Uncle Reuben,” said I, “this begins to look 
like a modern deluge.” 

“Hit’s awful, Richard, awful. I have never seen 
nothin’ to match hit, and I’ve been here a good many 
year. Just look out yonder at them houses, trees, 
horses, cattle, sheep and hogs floatin’ down the stream. 
Thar’ll be a heap of sufferin’ arter this, even if the 
folks don’t all git drownded.” 

“Yes, sir, I am sure this flood must be unprece- 
dented. It is without a parallel in my experience, at 
any rate. But I was just wondering what I should 
do for the horses that are shut up in the barn. I be- 
lieve the best plan would be to watch the stages of 
the flood, and if it should run higher, I will swim out 
to the building and ride the horses across this chan- 


180 Richard Gordon 

nel. By riding one and leading another I could soon 
get them all on safe ground.” 

‘ ‘Don’t attempt that now, Richard; you have been 
in water enough for one day,” said Edith. “The 
horses won’t starve, even if they should have to wait 
until morning for their supper and breakfast. This is 
frightful — and in spite of all we could do, the dear 
old mill was washed away.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that; if its gone, we will 
build another just like it, stick for stick and stone tor 
stone. We will even put back your patent truck just 
as it was, except that we’ll run it by electricity this 
time, if you like.” 

“Richard, I believe you could jest at a funeral.” 

“Well, that would depend upon whose rites were 
being solemnized. I think I know some people at 
whose funerals I might crack a joke without much 
compunction. I felt awfully serious about an hour 
ago, but that feeling has passed off, and given place 
to one of happiness, since you are safely out of the 
scrape.” 

“It was a scrape, indeed, for I should have been 
drowned but for you. I can’t swim, and would never 
have thought of weighting myself as you did, to 
avoid being swept away.” 

“It is remarkable how quickly and accurately one’s 
mind will form plans in such circumstances. But 
did you change all of your clothes?” 

“Every thread.” 

“That’s good. But did you take some more temper- 
ance ?” 

“No, I took a quinine capsule.” 

“Well, maybe that will serve the same purpose; but 
to be on the safe side, take a good warm bath tonight, 
toast your feet, another capsule, then bundle up snug- 
ly in bed, and just steam the cold out of yourself.” 

“What about your own case?” 

“I took more temperance than you did, and the 
steaming process is going on with me now.” 


Richard Gordon 


181 


“Then do you think I would be entirely safe in 
following your prescription ?” 

“Yes, wholly so; I am just a little exhilarated/' 

“I see. But come into the house and let me patch 
up your face and neck — both are severely cut and 
bruised." 

As I had seen that several places on my face and 
neck would be benefited by attention I went with her, 
and after she had pasted strips of court-plaster on the 
cuts, and rubbed vaseline and turpentine on the brui- 
ses, my physiogomy was decidedly improved. 

Night came on, but it was a night of anxiety for 
some of us. I urged Edith to do as I had suggested, 
and retire early. I persuaded Nan to sleep with her, 
as I was apprehensive that she might be taken with 
fever and delirium, as a result of her excitement and 
exposure. But as for myself, I did not take off my 
clothes. I drove a stake about a yard in length just 
at the water’s edge, and, with a lantern, went out 
every hour or so to gauge the flood. This was a prim- 
itive method, but still it served my purpose just as 
well as anything else, since I could see if the water 
went above that mark, and I could also determine if 
it fell below it. 

During the earlier hours of the night the flood 
seemed to remain about stationary, but after midnight 
I could see, to my satisfaction, that the waters were 
receding — receding slowly, defiantly, as an army of 
veterans, overcome by the force of its own exertions, 
would fall back upon its base of supplies. I kept up 
these periodical visits until 3 o’clock, when I saw that 
the water had fallen about two feet, and feeling sure 
it would continue to abate, I dropped upon my bed, 
and slept the sleep of exhaustion. 

It was 8 o’clock when I awoke, and I don’t suppose 
I would have awakened then of my own accord, but I 
felt, even in my sleep, that mysterious force which 
Edith’s presence had ever exerted over me. She was 
near me, and I knew it, although she had not sponken 


Richard Gordon 


182 

or made any sound that could have aroused me. In 
this short space of time I had a dream. I thought I 
was again in the water, chin deep, and urging her to 
jump for her life. Seeing that I was in distress, she 
laid her hand on my forehead, and called my name. 
I awoke at once and saw her bending over me. My 
relief was unutterable, for I suffered more in that 
short dream than in the actual experience of the day 
before. Bad dreams are hell, anyway, and I think 
they must be about the worst torment we shall be re- 
quired to endure. 

I held out my arms, and, drawing her down, kissed 
her, saying : 

“Edith, I am glad you roused me; I was having a 
horrible dream. This time the mill was floating away, 
and I could not get you to jump." 

“You had slept so long I was afraid you were sick, 
and came in to look after you. I found you lying on 
your back, and under the spell of a nightmare, or 
rather a day-mare, for it is now 8 o'clock, and break- 
fast has been over for more than an hour. But we 
saved yours, and it will be warm and nice whenever 
you want it." 

She was kneeling at my bedside, smoothing the 
tangled hair from my face, while her breath, as sweet 
as that of a sleeping infant, fanned my cheek. Her 
eyes were lustrous, her face full and natural, while 
her lips were as rosy as the comb of a laying hen. I 
had never seen her looking better. 

“Edith, you must have had a good night's rest ; you 
don’t look as though you had so much as sneezed 
after your drenching." 

“I did; for I followed your directions scrupulously, 
and I never felt better. I am persuaded that you are 
a very good physician, when it comes to prescribing 
for others." 

“Yes, but that's the extent of my accomplishments 
in the curative art. It requires an extraordinary phy- 
sician to tackle himself ; he's afraid his friends might 


Richard Gordon 183 

have to bury his blunder, and his family would be 
denied grounds on which to sue for mal-practice.” 

“The best prescription for you now would be a 
good, warm breakfast; so Til go and prepare it, while 
you make your toilet.” 

Having slept in my clothes I did not have a very 
elaborate toilet to make, and when I had bathed my 
face and hands, and dealt my hair a few random 
swipes, I was ready. 

Breakfast dispatched, I went out to see how things 
looked. It had turned cooler during the night, and 
the day dawned bright and clear. But the scene that 
confronted me was one of desolation. The stream had 
fallen almost to its normal channel, but wherever the 
devastating waters had passed or stood the face of the 
earth was covered with a deposit of thick, slimy mud, 
which was in many places three feet in depth. This 
slimy slush was interlarded with almost every con- 
ceivable object that could be torn from its moorings 
and swept away or drowned. There were rails with- 
out number, parts of houses and sections of bridges, 
as well as the carcasses of almost every kind of fowl 
and animal that could be overcome by water. Dead 
ducks and geese were about the only things I did not 
notice. Down on the bank of the creek I saw the 
drabbled remains of a bronze gobbler that had lodged 
in the fork of a tree, some twenty-odd feet above the 
ground. 

Every man I saw looked as if he was just return- 
ing from the burial of his last earthly friend ; apd, 
without exaggeration, a good many of their friends 
had been buried; for the loss of property meant the 
loss of dollars, and these are usually man's most 
trusted allies. 

The damage to the country was incalculable, and 
for the next week a depressing sense of gloom, al- 
most amounting to despair, brooded over the entire 
neighborhood. And this feeling of hopelessness was 
augmented by the omni-presence of countless hun- 


184 


Richard Gordon 


dreds of buzzards and carrion crows that wheeled and 
circled in the darkening air, then descended with a 
hissing swoop upon the bloated carcass of some man's 
old bell-cow or tow-head mule. 

But after this, and when the sun had baked a crust 
on the aforementioned slime of sufficient thickness to 
support the weight of a person, the people began to 
bestir themselves and gather together the various and 
sundry particles of available wreckage. Neighbors 
commenced to wrangle over the ownership of rails, 
lumber, wagonbeds — everything, in fact that had been 
washed away from A and lodged upon B's land. 
Questions of flotsam and jetsam arose, which in many 
instances, culminated in law-suits, thus giving the 
lawyers a chance to pick the living, even as the buz- 
zards banqueted upon the dead. That was a season of 
liveliness and of hustling. 

But, after all, I am not cock-and-prime sure that 
a freshet is an unmixed evil. It carries off a lot of 
filth and rubbish that might have remained to become 
a fruitful source of disease, a nuisance, or an eye- 
sore. It is to the face of the earth what a dose of 
salts or a diet of turnip salad is to the human system — 
a kind of spring cleanser. It may, like the salts, or 
the salad, leave a bitter taste in the mouth for a while, 
but, when that has passed off, one feels all the better 
for the expurgation. 

That afternoon I strolled down the creek, and 
when I had got about a quarter of a mile from the 
barn I discovered the old mill, tightly wedged be- 
tween two large oak trees that had withstood the 
force of the flood, and upon closer inspection I saw 
that the building was almost intact. Its timbers had 
been fastened together at a time when forty-penny 
nails were unknown, and stout hickory pins were used 
in default of something better, or worse. At all events, 
the old trap was there, turned upon its side, high and 
almost dry, though somewhat extravagantly veneered 
with crusted mud. 


Richard Gordon 


185 


It was a mess, to be sure, but I knew Edith would 
put on mourning unless it was fetched back to its 
old place. So, as I did not think black would be very 
becoming to her, I resolved to hire a force of hands 
and have it removed to its former site as soon as prac- 
ticable. I then went back to the house and told Edith 
of my discovery, and of my purpose to have the mill 
restored. At this intelligence she joyfully exclaimed: 

“You are the dearest, best scamp on earth/' 

And she hugged me until I fairly grunted. 

The next day I employed Abner, Zack, and two oth- 
er hands, and, making the fifth myself, we soon suc- 
ceeded in cutting and prizing the timbers of the build- 
ing apart. These we loaded on the ox-wagon and 
hauled them back to the place where they belonged. 
The stones, whibh were of the old French bur pattern, 
made us heave and sweat more than everything else 
combined, for they weighed fully one thousand pounds 
each. But finally, after expending rivers of perspira- 
tion and forest fires of profanity, we got these back, 
too. And when this job was accomplished I sat down 
on one of them, asseverating that I would not have 
cared a da — mn if the whole business had been swept 
out to the uttermost depths of the sea. 

This thing of loading two one-thousand-pound mill 
stones on an ox-wagon that had to engineer its own 
road through the mud is no Sunday-school picnic, as 
sure as you are living. We used the oxen because a 
yoke of cattle can go into and come out of places with 
ease, where horses or mules would be apt to break their 
legs or necks. They do not seem to have a very clear 
conception of the value of time ; yet, if one will only 
be patient, they will get there in the end, and drag al- 
most anything that may be moved behind them. Oxen 
are well adapted to rough countries. 

If any should wonder why I took so much interest 
in the work of rebuilding the mill, I will explain. 

Primarily, it was because Edith was strongly at- 
tached to it; secondarily, I remembered that Uncle 


1 86 


Richard Gordon 


Reuben had told me that he had executed a will, 
under the provisions of which Edith would take this 
property at his death, tie was too old to bother about 
it, and Rube, knowing that it would soon fall into 
other hands, could not have been expected to expend 
time or money in having it done. The task, therefore, 
fell naturally to me. 

Abner and the other hands were curious to know 
why I was willing to rebuild the mill without raising 
the foundation, or anchoring it in some way against 
another flood. But I told them it had stood there for 
fifty years without being washed away before, and if it 
would only stay there that much longer, it should 
have my unqualified consent to go the next time. 

I knew that in rebuilding the mill I was taking some 
risk, since I was not married to Edith, *but I also knew 
that in the event of my death she would have the 
property; in case of her death I should not deem it 
money wasted ; and if the world should come to an 
end, it would make no difference to either of us. 

So the mill was restored and Edith was happy. 


Richard Gordon 


i8 7 


CHAPTER XIV. 

It was now the middle of the second week of April. 
At this time I received a telegram from the Lumber 
Company asking me to meet an accredited agent of 
the syndicate at McMinnville on the following Mon- 
day. In compliance with this request, I went to town, 
and, after an almost endless amount of talk, com- 
monly termed negotiation, in which bluffs and counter 
bluffs played a conspicuous part, I sold, transferred 
and conveyed my tract of land to the aforesaid Lum- 
ber Company for the consideration of sixteen thou- 
sand dollars in cash. 

When I left town the deed thereto had been duly 
signed and acknowledged, and was then in process 
of registration. The transaction was closed, so far as 
I was concerned, since the local bank had accepted a 
certified check for that amount of money, and placed 
*t to my credit on the books. 

There was a considerable difference between the 
cost of this property and the price which I had re- 
ceived for it, this difference being eleven thousand dol- 
lars to my advantage. I had no cause to complain of 
the profit I had made ; and yet this sum was not more 
than the land was worth. The explanation of this ad- 
vantageous sale lay in the fact that the tract had been 
purchased by my father at a time of wide-spread 
financial depression, and, as a censequence, it had not 
realized one-third of its real value. Such things often 
occur, and in that way some men lose fortunes, while 
others gain them. I was still not a rich man, but bet- 
ter off than I was before the sale. 

I remained in town over night and held a long con- 
ference with Col. Mavhue, during which I told him 


1 88 


Richard Gordon 


of my determination to wed Edith and give her the 
advantages in life which her mind and heart so well 
deserved. 

“My boy, I am glad to hear that avowal from your 
own lips, for, when I first heard your name associated 
with hers, I confess I was skeptical of your motives. 
I was fearful you might be tempted to take advantage 
of her confidence and affection — ruin her, in short, 
and leave her to the alternative of suicide or a life of 
shame. She is a jewel among trinkets of paste. Give 
me your hand. I know now that you are made of the 
right sort of stuff/' 

I was deeply moved by the Colonel's candor and 
warm approval of my conduct, and told him that when 
we were married I would expect him to be one of the 
few witnesses of the ceremony. 

“I will be on hand, my son, with a well-worn shoe, 
a bag of rice and a heart full of good wishes for 
your future." 

With this I left him, turning my horse’s head to- 
wards home. 

The ability to wed the woman with whom a man has 
made an honest, sincere exchange of affection, is, in 
most circumstances, a sufficient cause for self-con- 
gratulation ; but when this is supplemented by the as- 
surance that one is financially empowered, and in- 
clined, to bestow upon her those innumerable things 
which all women admire and appreciate, the reason, 
the consideration, for happiness should be supreme. 

I had no disposition to become foolishly extrava- 
gant in my gifts to Edith, nor would I have met with 
any encouragement from her if I had been so dis- 
posed. Her tastes were simple, her wants exception- 
ally few, and she possessed the enviable gift of mak- 
ing the best appearance upon the least expenditure of 
means. And I was persuaded that if I should ever 
become a bankrupt my condition could not be charge 
able to her lack of economy. 


Richard Gordon 


/ 189 

My mental faculties were wholly engaged as I drove 
home. I was resolved to make a suggestion to Edith 
about the propriety of which I had some slight mis- 
giving. And yet I felt that she was a girl of too much 
sense to take serious offense at it. At all events, I 
would make it, and rely upon my powers of persuas- 
ion to secure her consent. 

When I reached home I saw her standing on the 
porch, bonnet in hand, and I beckoned to her. She 
came out to meet me, and I took her into the buggy. 
I then told her of the sale of my land and the price I 
had received for it, adding that this sum, with what I 
already possessed, afforded me the means of giving 
her all that I thought she would ever desire. 

“A little less than one month remains to make good 
my agreement with Grandpa,” I said, “and I want you 
to feel that what I have is at your command — that it is 
yours. While I admire you most when you are least 
adorned, I know that the world is more or less critical 
and exacting in the matter of dress, and I want you 
to let me give you some things that you have no means 
of procuring, and which Grandpa might regard as 
unnecessarily extravagant. You have promised to 
take a little trip with me next month, you remember, 
and I want you to go over to Nashville with me, and, 
with my aunt for a chaperon, purchase whatever you 
like in the line of wearing apparel. My aunt is a wom- 
an of excellent taste in such matters, and she would be 
more than glad to assist you in that way. You will go, 
won't you?” 

“Do you think you would be ashamed of me if I 
should not go?” 

“Not in the least, Edith. I cannot conceive of any 
condition in which I might be ashamed of you. But 
I take it for granted that, while you are nine-tenths 
divine you are one-tenth human, and, being to that 
extent like other mortals, you enjoy having stylish 
things; and I want you to have them. Say you will 
go, and I will ’phone my aunt to join us at Murfrees- 


I 9° t 


Richard Gordon 


boro on Thursday morning, the day after to-morrow, 
and I can promise you a pleasant trip.” 

“Well, Richard, if that proposition had been made 
me by any other person than you I should say — no. 
But I am determined not to refuse any request you are 
capable of making; so let's submit it to Grandpa, and 
if he thinks it would not be improper I will go.” 

So we took an appeal to an older if not to a higher 
court. In presenting the case to the old man I, of 
course, took upon myself the role of leading counsel, 
as Edith, from a sense of delicacy, had but little to 
say. In spite of all my eloquence the old fellow re- 
mained for a long time obdurate. It was difficult to 
make him understand the necessity or the expediency 
of a bride-elect accepting her trousseau from her hus- 
band in prospectu. He averred that he had rather 
sell one of his young mar' mules and devote the pro- 
ceeds of the sale to the purchase of such things as the 
“child mought need.” I saw thajt his pride was 
pricked, and I went at him with redoubled effort. I 
told him that his losses as a result of the flood had 
been so severe he owed it to his other grandchildren 
and to himself to permit me to do these things for 
Edith; and he finally capitulated, saying: 

“Well, well; but be shore you'ns don't ockapy the 
same room when you’ns git over thar, and mebbe the 
foul tongues won't have nothin' to wag about.” 

At this we beat a retreat in triumphant confusion. 

I communicated my wishes to my aunt, and, as I 
had fully expected, found her very willing to assume 
the role of chaperon. She would go she said, because 
she was all curiosity to see the original of the photo 
I had given her ; and then she would be glad of the op- 
portunity to do a little shopping on her own hook. I 
had entertained but little doubt that this part of my 
program would be carried out, since I had never 
heard of a refusal to take such a trip when there was 
the inducement of a free ride and all local expenses 
defrayed. 


Richard Gordon 


191 

Bright and early we drove over to town and took 
the train for the metropolis of the Middle Division; 
and in two hours from that time we were “slowing 
down” for the passenger station at Murfreesboro. 
My aunt was there according to promise, but she was 
not alone. Uncle, all of the children, the cook, the 
house girl, and a score or more of my local friends, 
male and female, were on hand to get a glimpse of the 
wild rose of the hills. Edith was seated near a win- 
dow, intently watching the expectant crowd., but 
wholly unconscious of the fact that she was the mag- 
net to their fascinated gaze. As my aunt came in I 
presented Edith to her, gave her my seat, and slipped 
out to greet my friends. One enthusiastic fellow ran 
up, and, grasping my hand, said : 

“Dick, Kate is here and Ell have to say it in a whis- 
per. But blast my bones if that isn't the handsomest 
girl I ever saw. God, what eyes ! Haven't they pene- 
trated your mask yet?” 

“Yes, Tom ; but they are as charitable as they are 
beautiful, and that was the only thing that gave me a 
fighting chance.” 

“Do they grow that sort where you found her?” 

“Well, no; not in clusters, at any rate.” 

“I should think not. One of the kind to a stalk 
would be the greatest plenty. But I was in hopes she 
might have a sister, or something of that sort, who re- 
sembled her.” 

“I'm sorry there's no prospect of our becoming re- 
lated by affinity. Miss McLean is an orphan, who has 
neither brother nor sister.” 

“Hang the luck !” 

And off he hustled to take a parting peep at Edith. 
Upon returning to the coach I found my aunt and 
Edith engaged in pleasant converse. The latter, al- 
though occupying a somewhat trying position, did 
not evince the slightest constraint or embarrassment 
in her manner. She was a country girl, born and 
reared in seclusion, but she was instinctively a lady, 


192 


Richard Gordon 


As we reached the Terminal Station and left the 
coach, Edith seemed slightly bewildered by the hust- 
and no effort was required upon her part to grace her 
natural sphere. 

ling, bustling, vociferous mob of self-assertive hu- 
manity. She was a child in experience, and it was not 
surprising that she should be a little confused, over- 
awed, by this clamorous babel of sounds. So I caught 
her by the arm and piloted the way to the street, 
where we took a car for the Tulane. Here I engaged 
not one room, but a suite of rooms for the length of 
time we should be in the city — until the afternoon of 
the next day. I had given Edith a lady's purse of 
comfortable proportions upon leaving home, and re- 
signed her to the care of my aunt, while I went out 
to interview a firm of tailors in order that I might re- 
stock my own wardrobe. 

About four o'clock that afternoon I took the ladies 
over the city in an open carriage, and spent three 
and around the metropolis. We drove first to the 
Capitol, and, after going through the several depart- 
ments, then ascended to the dome of the stately edi- 
fice. From this elevation we could see not only the 
city proper, but the suburbs and the country for miles 
around. A view from this point of vantage is always 
interesting, no matter how often repeated ; but to the 
person who beholds it for the first time it is simply 
enchanting. And upon reaching this height Edith 
hours visiting some of the many points of interest in 
stood for several minutes mute, and almost motion- 
less ; then turning to aunt, she said : 

“This prospect is magnificent, and yet bewildering 
to my mind. I find myself wondering how so many 
people can live huddled together without trampling 
one another to death." 

“Don't you think you would like to live in a city?” 
asked my aunt. 

“I am afraid not. I imagine I should suffocate 
upon being forced to inhale so much second-hand air. 


Richard Gordon 


193 


It would soon grow stifling. This, however, is my 
first visit to Nashville, and it is possible that custom 
and habit might ultimately school my feelings to a 
different state — change my verdancy to a more popu- 
lar hue. But I am fearful I should always feel 
crowded/' 

And that was the exact, whole truth. To have com- 
pelled Edith to reside in such a place would have been 
as cruel as the capture of a full-grown bird, and con- 
fining it in a cage, where it would be doomed to subsist 
upon artificial food and breathe the heated atmosphere 
of a closed room. Smoke, dust, and compressed, or, 
as she had said, second-hand air, and impure water, 
would soon have driven the bloom from her cheek 
and dimmed the luster of her eye. She was beaute- 
ous, but not vain, and clearly was not tempted to 
abandon the fragrant freedom of her native heath to 
challenge the admiration of hot-house exotics. 

From the Capitol we drove out to Vanderbilt Uni- 
versity, and this splendid seat of education at once 
captivated Edith, eliciting from her expressions of the 
greatest admiration. Her comment was, that the mem- 
ory of the man whose munificence had bestowed this 
boon upon the South should never be permitted to 
fade. 

And it is more than probable that the time is yet un- 
born when the people of this land will have ceased to 
venerate the name of Commodore Vanderbilt. 

I had been fortunate in securing three well-located 
neighboring seats at the Vendome, where the attraction 
for the evening was Hamlet. These tickets I purchased 
of a broker (?) at a considerably advanced price, but 
I had promised Edith a pleasant time, and I did not 
complain of the extortion or curse the iniquity. I knew 
that Edith had never witnessed a performance of this 
character, and I was especially pleased at the oppor- 
tunity of permitting her to see and hear this, the high- 
water mark of Shakespeare’s dramatic genius. That 
she was familiar with the lines of the play I knew, for 


194 


Richard Gordon 


I had heard her quote many of them repeatedly, and 
I was curious to witness the impression which I felt 
sure would be made upon her by a living interpreta- 
tion of this great drama. 

I had never plumed myself upon my fancied ability 
to critically analyze, to properly interpret this play, 
by the flexible or inflexible rules of aesthetics. I could 
only sit and listen, gape and gaze, while some black- 
robed artist developed the method in his madness and 
lost a tinselled throne. And while I have been fully 
persuaded that latter-day rhapsodists have discovered 
sublimities, uncovered mares’-nests, in this play that 
the author himself never dreamed of, still I had always 
enjoyed it, and felt more than a mere curiosity to see 
how Edith would be affected by it. 

She occupied the seat between my own and that of 
my aunt, and as the play progressed I could see that 
she was deeply, if not painfully, affected by the mel- 
ancholy doom which overhung the chief characters 
of this fated dynasty. The final lot of ill-starred 
Ophelia forced tears of genuine grief from the depths 
of her sympathetic heart. At times she would hold 
her breath, as if in anticipation of some mortal thrust 
at her own vitals, while at others her breathing was 
impaired by hitches and half-smothered sobs. As if 
seeking safety and comfort in her distress, she slipped 
her hand into mine, and I held it firmly, compassion- 
ately, whispering to her to remember it was only a 
play. And when the curtain was rung down upon the 
harrowing scene of doom, death, and desolation, she 
turned to me and said : 

“Oh, I am so glad it is ended.” 

“Did you enjoy it?” I asked. 

“Really, I did not. It was a grand thing, but so 
fateful, gloomy, and depressing. I thank you for the 
opportunity of witnessing the play this time, but I 
should not care to see it again. I am too faint-hearted 
to ever grow fond of tragedy.” 


Richard Gordon 


195 


And I knew that was just how she felt. One of 
Edith's distinguishing traits was her absolute candor. 
Whenever she uttered a word, or gave expression to a 
state of feeling, there was never any reason to doubt 
that she had told the direct truth. There was some- 
thing in her tone, her accent, that confirmed it and 
rendered corroboration superfluous. She had fully 
comprehended the play, had keenly appreciated it, but 
she had not enjoyed it; and after we had quitted the 
building, she said: 

“I had read and reread this masterpiece of the great 
dramatist, had treasured many of its jewels in my 
memory, but I had no idea there could be such a dif- 
ference between the reading of a thing and seeing it 
enacted on the stage. It was a grandly beautiful les- 
son from an artistic point of view, but its effect upon 
the soul is withering; and, while I would not have 
missed it for any consideration, this one performance 
is all I could endure." 

Hers was the soul of a martyr ; she could have stood 
at the stake without flinching. The sight of suffer- 
ing in others quickly brought her to tears. 

Upon reaching the hotel I found an opportunity to 
question my aunt, and asked her what she thought of 
Edith, after a day spent in her company. 

“That she is beautiful goes without so saying; but 
candidly, I do not believe I am qualified to pass judg- 
ment upon her natural gifts, or her studied acquire- 
ments. In tact, practical sense and simple refinement 
of manners she is a prodigy. Her frankness, unre- 
served confidence, and considerate regard for my own 
comfort have won me completely. If there is an atom 
of selfishness in her nature, I have not discovered it. 
And, Dick, listen: If you should ever neglect or mis- 
treat her in any way, I shall be sure to disown our re- 
lationship." 

“There will never be occasion to execute your threat 
— I could not do that." 


196 


Richard Gordon 


“Then be careful of her feelings ; they are tenderly 
sensitive. Show her constant affection ; bring her into 
touch with your own friends ; give her every advan- 
tage you can afford, and she will develop into a woman 
of whom any man might be proud. 

“It would require time to become conversant with 
Edith’s many phases of mind, although a shopping 
tour furnishes about the best oportunity to study a 
woman’s character. If there is anything deceitful 
or picayunish in her nature it is very apt to manifest 
itself on such an ocasion. Edith has displayed noth- 
ing of that sort. She cannot be imposed upon, for if 
either the article or the price is unsatisfactory she 
quietly declines to deal. Neither is she a bargain 
chaser. I detest that sort of a shopping companion; 
she will walk one to death.” 

The forenoon of the next day was devoted by the 
ladies to further investments in their particular sphere 
of traffic, but at noon they announced that the work 
was finished. Everything that could be procured in 
a ready-made state they had packed in a conveniently 
arranged traveling trunk, while those articles which 
were yet to be made were to be sent by express to 
Edith at McMinnville. Small tokens of remembrance 
for the home-folk were not overlooked ; and at 1 145 
p.m., we were comfortably settled aboard train for 
home. 

Upon reaching Murfreesboro I found to my as- 
tonishment that the assemblage was even greater than 
on the day before. Uncle and the children were again 
on hand, ostensibly to meet mamma ; but I knew better, 
for she had made such trips many times without the 
honor of an escort en masse from the depot to her 
home. The train we were on, being a sort of inter- 
mediate or accommodation affair, stopped and re- 
mained for several minutes at all important stations 
on the road. So I called to Uncle, telling him to bring 
the children into the coach, where I presented them 
separately to their prospective cousin. Edith kissed 


Richard Gordon 


197 


each round, dimpled face, and to the youngest she 
gave an elegant box of crystallized fruits. By way of 
acknowledgment for this most acceptable gift the 
bright-eyed tot threw her chubby arms around Edith's 
neck, and lisped, “Fank 'ou, feet tousin.” 

Aj; this Edith blushed radiantly, kissed the little one 
again, and exclaimed: 

“You dearest of things. I do wish I could steal you. 
Won't you go home with me?" 

The child regarded her intently for a moment, then 
for answer, asked : 

“Ain't Tousin Dick doin' to 'teal 'ou?" 

This was too much for Edith's equanimity, and she 
buried her face in the charitable folds of her hand- 
kerchief to hide her confusion. And as the conductor 
called out “all aboard," the irrepressible little Miss 
turned back and said : 

“Dood-bye, Tousin Edif. Don't cry any more." 

When we were again on the way, and Edith had 
somewhat regained her composure, I ventured: 

“Children are two-edged tools, aren't they?" 

“No, Richard; there isn't any edge to them. Their 
sweet little tongues simply tickle one into hysteria 
with bright, embarrassing truthfulness. They don't 
know the meaning of policy, deceit, or hypocracy, 
and for this reason they are the very dearest creatures 
on earth. A little child is the embodiment of all that 
is pure, good and godly in the world, and I feel some- 
times that the greatest curse to the race is the termi- 
nation of childhood." 

“I take it that that applies only to well-behaved chil- 
dren," I said. 

“Oh, yes. And yet if children are not well-man- 
nered, their misconduct may generally be laid at the 
door of their parents. Most children would be good 
if they were not neglected, abused or spoiled. I don't 
believe in infant perversity; it is monstrous." 


198 


Richard Gordon 


The sun was just sinking, like a great red ball, into 
a misty, murky horizon as we reached home. I lifted 
Edith from the buggy and said: 

“Well, Edith, we have had our little trip. I trust 
you have enjoyed it. And as for what I did in aiding 
you to get such things as you needed, my aunt will 
never know that the money you spent was ever mine. 
I did not tell her.” 

“But I did.” 

“Bless your heart! Why did you do that?” 

“Because I learned to love your aunt, and I did not 
think it would be right or honest to keep such a secret 
from her. I did not intend to spend the money fool- 
ishly ; so I brought back about half you gave me ; and 
here is the purse.” 

“Edith, I told you long ago that you would stag- 
ger me with some master-stroke of wonderment; and 
you have done it. The idea of a woman going to 
Nashville with a certain sum of money to spend on 
dress and coming home with half of it! That takes 
the custard, by Jude ! Put the purse into your 
pocket, while I hunt for my breath.” 

“Now, Richard, you are trying to spoil it all by 
ridiculing me. Take the purse, and accept my thanks 
for what I did use.” 

“Not — one — red — penny. I gave you the purse, 
money and all, and I didn’t intend to call for the 
change when you got home. Keep it, my sweet. 
There may be other things you will need — the express 
charges on the packages to come, etc. Keep it, keep 
it; you must.” 

And I proceeded to untie the trunk which had been 
strapped on behind the buggy. This I lifted upon my 
shoulder and carried into the house; then up to her 
room. Edith followed, with both hands full of bun- 
dles, of various shapes and sizes. These she laid upon 
the bed ; and as I was leaving the room, I turned and 
stumbled into her outstretched arms. 


Richard Gordon 


199 


CHAPTER XV. 

On the morning after my return from Nashville I 
was both surprised and chagrined by the report of a 
wholesale jail delivery. I went at once to the 'phone, 
and, calling up McMinnville, got a confirmation of the 
unwelcome news. I was told that some time during 
the preceding night seven of the worst inmates of the 
jail had succeeded in sawing their way through the 
bars of the cage, and thence through the ironed win- 
dows of the outer wall. 

The instruments employed by the jail birds in ef- 
fecting their escape were thin pieces of steel, which 
they had extracted from the soles of their shoes, and 
hacked, or indented in such a way as to convert them 
into saws. While some were at work, others held a 
camp-meeting, sang and shuffled their feet, in order 
to deaden the sound of the sawing; and it was after 
daybreak the next morning when the jailer discovered 
that his guests had taken French leave. 

This, of course, threw the whole town and adjacent 
country into a state bordering on consternation. Every 
man, woman, and child was on the qui vive for the 
escaped prisoners ; and every man, in particular, con- 
stituted himself a posse comitatus, bristling with steel 
and weighted with lead and liquor, to aid in the recap- 
ture of the fugitives. By nightfall four of the num- 
ber had been retaken and were securely shackled in 
the jail, under the devoted attention of a wide-awake 
guard. But the two distinguished personalties in 
whom I was most interested had eluded the officers, as 
well as the several posses, who were scouring the 
country in every direction. With these two there was 
a third person by the name of Frank Garner, who had 


200 


Richard Gordon 


been in jail awaiting trial upon the charge of horse- 
stealing. This triumvirate seemed destined to make 
good their escape, for Brum Legore was of the num- 
ber, and he had both a head and a heart for such busi- 
ness. 

Inasmuch as two of the worthies were objects of 
my special solicitude, I joined in the pursuit with a 
zest, if not a discretion, that might have done credit 
to a Pinkerton detective. We scoured, rescoured, 
swept and scrubbed the face of the country until we 
were almost worn into “frazzles/’ and our poor horses 
were ready to drop from sheer exhaustion. The sher- 
iff, with his brace of bloodhounds, was tireless in his 
efforts to run the game to cover; but there had been 
so much passing it was impossible for the dogs to fol- 
low a trail for any considerable distance. And be- 
sides, the wily rascals had got hold of some cayenne 
pepper, which they sprinkled in their tracks, thus com- 
pletely baffling the dogs. 

It was apparent that the three men had made the best 
of the friendly darkness between the time of their es- 
cape and daylight, and had then taken to cover in some 
unknown place. So we held a council of war at sun- 
set and resolved to establish a secret guard about 
Simp Suggs’ house, with the hope of surrounding and 
bagging the game in that way. 

Aside from the keen desire I felt to see the two 
scoundrels, Legore and Suggs, behind bars again, the 
natural excitement of the man-hunt had a peculiar fas- 
cination for me; I enjoyed it. So I volunteered to 
form one of the party which was to watch Suggs’ 
house that night. I took the precaution, however, to 
go home, eat a hearty supper, put a night lunch into 
my pocket and get a fresh horse. But I did not take 
any whiskey, for I knew it was best that a man should 
keep his head clear when on the hunt for escaped crim- 
inals ; and, as it transpired, it was a good thing that I 
did not “tank up” for the occasion. 


Richard Gordon 


201 


We stationed our forces in such a manner as to form 
a complete cordon around the Suggs house. The men 
were posted at intervals of about thirty feet, and each 
sentinel could distinguish the silhouette of his neigh- 
bor, both to the right and to the left, against the star- 
lit sky. I stood erect for two and a half or three hours 
before I began to feel the effects of languor and 
drowsiness. I then sat down on a stump, hoping to 
overcome this feeling. But I made a mistake, did ex- 
actly the wrong thing; for I must have fallen asleep 
while in this position. 

Just how long I sat there dozing I could not tell ; 
but at all events, I was startled into consciousness by 
the snapping of a dry twig nearby. At this sound I 
bolted upright and cried, “halt.” But the fellow was 
evidently in a mutinous mood, for he did not obey my 
command. On the contrary, he wheeled like a flash, 
fired at me, and, dropping onto his all fours, seemed to 
fairly split the darkness, as he rushed through our 
guard line. 

The other fellows must have been asleep, too ; for, 
at the sound of this shot, they all went pell-mell, and 
began to shoot at random. Seeing how the muss was 
going, I dropped flat upon my belly and lay there, 
until the fools’ row was over. And when a census of 
our party was taken it was found that three of the sen- 
tinels had been more or less seriously wounded by their 
own comrades. But the bird, of whatever feather, 
had flown. 

I felt like a fool. And yet I felt some better, I 
imagine, than those three fools who had been shot by 
three bigger fools. The man, beast, or devil who 
fired at me had missed his mark, and merely succeeded 
in working an extra buttonhole in the lapel of my coat. 
But he had the laught on the crowd. 

We remained about the place until daylight, when 
several whole-skinned units formed themselves into an 
escort and conducted the wounded to their respective 
homes. That there were any of the party who could 


202 


Richard Gordon 


boast the possession if intact hides was merely a mat- 
ter of individual good luck, for there had been enough 
powder and lead expended in the melee to make sieves 
of the entire crew. And it was all due to a cheap, 
mean grade of corn whiskey. 

Most of the party had “tanked up” for the dual pur- 
pose of generating internal warmth and screwing up 
external courage, and, as a result, three of the posse 
were placed upon the retired list for some time to 
come, if nothing worse. Hence it not infrequently 
transpires that a man is in more danger from his fool 
friends than from his wise enemies. 

When the disabled had been removed and the others 
began to disperse, I went cautiously up to the house 
and rapped on the door. In answer to my knock 
Suggs’ wife unbarred the door, and opening it slightly, 
asked : 

“Who’s there?” 

“Richard Gordon,” I answered. 

“Ah, then ; come in, Mr. Gordon, if you’ns can git 
in, and make ’lowance for the way things look.” 

I noticed that her face was bruised and swollen, 
while her forehead was bandaged with a piece of 
white cloth. 

“What’s the matter, Mrs. Suggs?” 

“Well, sir, he’s been here, as mebbe you’ns know, 
and he beat me. He ’lowed he’d had it laid up for me 
ever since I swore agin him at the trial. But I ain’t 
goin’ to swear a lie, if he kills me.” 

“Would you object to giving me some clue as to his 
whereabouts? I don’t care so much about the recap- 
ture of your husband, as for that bell-wether of a vil- 
lain, Brum Legore. He is at the bottom of all this 
business, and I am satisfied that there can be no as- 
surance of peace in this community until he is effect- 
ually disposed of.” 

“I would tell you’ns, Mr. Gordon, if I knowd where 
they was, even at the risk of bein’ beat wuss than I 
was last night. But I don’t know. I only hope they 


Richard Gordon 


203 


will keep away from here and leave me be. Simp 
was the one that came to the house, and in slippin’ 
past the gyards he must have shot at some of 'em and 
stirred up all that muss. He tuck two rifles and three 
pistols, besides all the ammunition he could find, and 
I’m feard some of you’ns may git hurt if you’ns should 
run into ’em.” 

“I am satisfied they would not yield without a fight, 
unless they were surrounded and convinced that re- 
sistance would be useless.” 

“No, sir; and I misdoubt if Brum would give up 
even under them circumstances. He’s a mean, des- 
perate man, and he’s got a powerful grudge agin 
you’ns. So I hope they’ll ketch or kill him before they 
quit. He’s plumb ruint Simp, and if I larn anything 
about ’em I’ll let you’ns know in some way where 
to look for ’em. 

Since all the other escaped prisoners had been re- 
captured, the wits and energies of the official force 
of the county were directed to the pursuit of these 
three men. It was quite probable that they were to- 
gether, as Simp would not have carried off two rifles 
and three pistols for his own use. Hence they must 
either be in company, or have separated temporarily 
in order to arm themselves and then meet again at 
some appointed rendezvous. And after his experience 
of the night before it was not at all probable that 
Simp or either of his pals would hazard a return to 
this house for some time to come. 

The bloodhounds were again resorted to with the 
hope that they might be able to train Simp from his 
home to the place of meeting with his companions. 
This time the dogs had no trouble in taking the track 
and keeping it, until they encountered a small stream. 
Here they stopped. 

Water holds no trail, and the keenest nose is of no 
purpose when a fleeing criminal once seeks its aid 
to engulf his tracks. It is a good thing in its place, 


204 


Richard Gordon 


but it has helped many a scoundrel to dodge his de- 
serts. 

The search for the fugitives was prosecuted for 
a week after this, but despite eevry effort, every 
ruse to entrap them, they seemed to have successfully 
defied pursuit. Neither scent nor trace of them could 
be found after the hounds lost the trail of Simp at 
the little stream. A reward of one hundred dollars 
each was offered by the sheriff for their recapture, 
but even this incentive was inadequate to achieve that 
result; and, finally, the authorities, as well as the pri- 
vate citizens, became convinced that they had cut clear 
of the neighborhood, and possibly left the state. This, 
to me, was a “consummation devoutly to be wished,” 
and, by busying myself about other things, I soon 
ceased to think of them. 

The time for my marriage was now approaching, 
it being not more than two weeks off, and my thoughts 
were chiefly engrossed with this affair. Edith had 
selected Tuesday of the second week in May as the 
day upon which our destinies should be united, our 
happiness consummated. I was impatient to have the 
marriage over and to be able to call Edith my wife; 
but at the same time I had gumption enough to know 
that, for good and sufficient reasons, the appointment 
of the wedding day is the woman’s peculiar preroga- 
tive. I knew that this custom had prevailed from a 
time against which the memory of man runneth not, 
and I had no disposition to be in unseemly haste or to 
break this unwritten law. 

Edith’s dresses had arrived by express, and, as she 
declared, were dreams of loveliness; yet I had to take 
her word for this, since she would not let me see them, 
claiming that if she did the charm of surprise and 
novelty would wear off before our marriage. I did 
not know but that she was right in this position, and 
I concluded to await the accepted time, since a willful 
woman must have her way, anyhow. 


Richard Gordon 


205 


On a clear, star-lit, but moonless night in the latter 
part of April I put on my hat after supper and walked 
up to the little store that has already figured to some 
extent in this bit of history. My purpose in going 
was to invest a nickel in a box of matches, and as the 
proprietor was, like myself, a young man, I sat and 
talked with him for two hours or more before start- 
ing home. 

It was half-past nine o'clock when I reached the 
yard gate, and when I got there I was surprised to see 
so many signs of stirring on the part of the members 
of the household. Rube, Aunt Molly, and even Uncle 
Reuben were moving about the house with lamps 
and candles in. hand, looking into every room, and I 
augured from this that something unusual had oc- 
curred. I knew that Uncle Reuben was generally in 
bed by this time, and I hastened to the house to in- 
quire what was the matter. The first person I met 
chanced to be Aunt Molly, and her answer to my 
question was : 

“We can’t find Edith. We have looked the house 
over and into every place we could think of, but with- 
out result. We knew she did not go up with you, for 
Rube saw you leave the house alone; and then she 
was here an hour after you left.” 

This intelligence alarmed me, and I hastily sought 
the others, plying them with questions as to when 
they had last seen Edith. 

But the only information I could get from them 
was that they had supposed she was in her room until 
she failed to come down and bid her grandfather good- 
night, this being her invariable habit when at home. 
They had gone about the yard and called her loudly 
enough to be heard if she had been near the house. 
Their efforts, however, to ascertain her whereabouts 
had been fruitless, since they could not find so much 
as a trace of her. 

I remembered that she had taken a drive that after- 
noon, and that after reaching home she had spoken 


206 


Richard Gordon 


of losing a pair of gloves at some point on the road. 
As the house had been searched to no purpose, it was, 
therefore, unneccessary for me to look through it, and 
the thought occurred to me that she might possibly 
have taken old Calico along for company, and gone 
down to the mill for some purpose. So I went out to 
the kennel, unfastened the gate, and called the dogs; 
but I saw at a glance that Calico was not among 
them. This was a slight clue, as I had no doubt that 
if I could find the dog I could locate her mistress. 

With this basis to work from I went hurriedly in 
the direction of the mill, calling Edith's name at every 
few steps, and hoping to hear her voice in answer. In 
this, howevr, I was disappointed; I heard no sound 
save that of the water falling over the dam. I tried 
the mill door, but found it locked, and I could not see 
anything to indicate that she had recently been there. 
I then called to her as loudly as I could — still there 
was no answer, except the echo of my own voice. 

I was by this time becoming feverishly alarmed 
about her. I ran back to the house and reported both 
what I had discovered and what I had failed to find. 
I then got a lantern, and, with Rube, went out to the 
barn to investigate things there. We looked first at 
the buggy, which was standing under a shed; but if 
she had been there we could see no evidence of her 
presence. Failing in that quarter, we then turned to 
the door of the stall in which her horse was kept, and 
the sight that met my gaze there froze my blood. 

We had made it a rule to lock the door at night, 
and I knew that it had been locked that evening. But 
what I saw that unnerved me was, that the staple had 
been prized out of the door-facing, the lock lay on the 
ground, and the door itself stood ajar. I flung the 
door open, went in, and, as I feared, found the stall 
empty. The bridle and saddle, which usually hung 
on a peg in the corner, were also missing. I huskily 
said to Rube : 


Richard Gordon 


207 


“There is something worse than wrong. Edith 
did not do this. I’m afraid she has fallen a victim to 
some hellish villiany. It is terrible.” 

Upon leaving the horse stall I went out and began 
to examine the ground about the barn. A few feet in 
front of the shed I picked up a soiled and crumpled 
bonnet, which we both recognized as Edith’s ; and not 
far from this lay a piece of the dress she had worn 
that afternoon. 

The surface of the ground had been seamed and 
scarred by shuffling, rapidly moving feet, and gave 
evidence of a terrific, if not a deadly, struggle between 
the poor girl and her assailants. It was clear that she 
had fought desperately before she was overcome and 
hurried away. 

Holding the light still closer to the ground, I sought 
for further signs that might aid me in reaching a con- 
clusion as to Edith’s fate. And — God in heaven ! 
Had they murdered her? Not far from the spot where 
I had found the bonnet there was a pool of blood; 
and at the sight of this I dropped upon my knees and 
wept. My feelings, as I made these discoveries, might 
be imagined ; they could not be described. Great drops 
of perspiration broke from my face and body, while my 
underclothes became saturated. 

I could bear the sight of these things no longer, and 
rising, I staggered back against the stable door. 
While I stood there leaning against the door-facing, 
my attention was attracted by a piece of white paper 
which was sticking in the crack of a log. To snatch 
this out and unfold it was the work of a moment, and 
with it the aid of the lantern’s dim light I succeeded in 
deciphering this cold-blooded, brutal scrawl: 

“'Richard Gordon. 

“Sur. — When you come across with Twelv’ Thou- 
san’ Dollars you can Git your Gal. You’ve got the 
money an’ we’ve Got the goods, if you want a deal 
fetch the Wad out to Big Owl Holler tomorrow night 
at Twelv’ o’clock sharpe. if you Do like we say no 


208 


Richard Gordon 


harm will come to Her, but if you refuse an’ try to 
ketch us or giv’ us Away you mought as well say 
good-by to your sweet Hart, fetch the Stuff an’ lay 
hit down by a Peeled stake at the spring in the middle 
of the Holler. When you Put down the money an’ 
start back the Gal will meet you. We mean bizness. 

“Yours, 

When I had spelled through this note I read it aloud 
to Rube. Then Edith had not been muVdered, but 
kidnapped, and was to be held for a ransom of twelve 
thousand dollars. The wretches should have the mon- 
ey — yes, twice that sum, if the}' would only restore 
Edith to me safe and unharmed. 

And yet this note had evidently been written some 
time before, as its stained and crumpled condition 
would indicate. The abandoned cut-throats had 
plainly hatched this scheme, and written the communi- 
cation in anticipation of the act. Hence this was no 
proof within itself that Edith had not met her death 
in the desperate struggle with her abductors. They 
could demand a ransom for Edith dead as well as for 
Edith living. And then, whose blood was it that 
stained the ground ? My God ! But these were fear- 
ful questions for a man to be forced to answer, even 
in the silent tribunal of his own heart. 

Yet mine was not a nature to surrender, or fall pros- 
trate under the stroke of calamity. I would do some- 
thing — anything, everything that could be done to re- 
cover the being who had become infinitely dearer to 
me than my own life. 

Sadly I went back to the house carriyng the 
crushed and crumpled bonnet and the stained frag- 
ment of Edith’s dress, since these two things alone 
remained to me as eloquent witnesses of her heroic 
efforts to beat off her brutal captors. How my heart 
raged and bled as I thought of her hopeless, pitiable 
battle in the darkness! Christ! But it did seem that 
a merciful heaven would have intervened to aid the 
weak — to save the good ! 


Richard Gordon 


209 


No date had been prefixed, no signature attached, 
to the note in my possession ; and yet I was fully per- 
suaded that I could call the names of two of the per- 
petrators of this outrage. * Brum Legore and Simp 
Suggs were eminently fitted by nature and habit for 
a crime of this desperate character, and, besides, both 
of these men cherished a bitter personal grudge 
against me. So I felt fully convinced that they were 
the men w*ith whom I had to deal. 

When Rube and I reached the house the bonnet and 
piece of cloth, together with my tear-stained face, told 
in unmistakable language the terrible story. 

“Is the child dead, Richard? In God’s name, tell 
me.” 

“I do not know, sir ; I cannot tell. But she has been 
stolen — kidnapped by some fiends, who will hold her, 
alive or dead, for a ransom.’’ 

I made this answer as one in the grip of a night- 
mare. If I had been in full possession of my facul- 
ties, I would not have broken the news in this abrupt, 
hopeless manner to the old grandfather. For no 
sooner had I ceased speaking than he threw up his 
thin bloodless hands, and would have fallen heavily 
upon the floor. Rube and I, however, caught him, 
and bore his senseless form into his own room. 

I then left Rube and his wife to do whatever ,they 
could towards restoring their father to consciousness, 
while I went to the telephone and rang for the central 
office at McMinnville. Fortunately Tony O’Leary 
was there, and after giving his as intelligible and as 
connected an account of what had transpired as I 
could, I asked him to notify the sheriff. I knew that 
Tony would do his whole duty in the matter, for he 
admired Edith greatly, and then, too, I felt sure that 
he entertained a genuine feeling of friendship for me. 
His last injunction to me was: 

“Try to be aisy, Mr. Gordon, until we can get there. 
We are coming, and we’ll run down those hell-hounds 


210 


Richard Gordon 


this trip, even if there’s never another word passed 
over these wires.” 

I then went into my room, put a pint flash of brandy 
into my pocket, armed myself with rifle and pistol, 
and hurried out to the barn. Saddling one of the farm 
horses, I mounted and galloped off in the direction of 
Suggs’ home. I rode furiously, and had traversed 
about two miles of the distance, when my horse shied 
slightly at some object which w&s coming meeting me 
in the road. I checked the horse and asked : 

“Who’s that?” 

“Hit’s me,” answered a familiar voice. 

“Ah, yes; I recognize you, Mrs. Suggs.” 

“And hit’s you’ns, Mr. Gordon. I was just on my 
way to tell you’ns to be keerful, for thar’s deviltry 
afoot tonight. I overheard Brum, Simp, and that oth- 
er feller plannin’ to steal Edith and take her off to a 
cave in the mountain, whar they was to hold her till 
you’ns paid a big reward to git her back.” 

“Can you tell me where this cave is that you speak 
of?” 

“I don’t know exactly ; but from what I could ketch, 
hit’s about three mile beyond Big Owl Hollow — jest 
straight north from there. Hit’s a big cave whar they 
have ben makin’ moonshine since they broke jail.” 

“Is there any one about here who could show me the 
way to Big Owl Hollow ?” 

“Plenty of ’em. Thar’s Abner Merritt, Zack Arn- 
ett, and lots of young fellows here’bouts that could 
take you’ns straight to the place.” 

“How far is it from Mr. Ralston’s home?” 

“Hit’s betwixt ’leven and twelve mile, I reckon.” 

“Is there any other fact connected with this affair 
that you could put me in possession of?” 

“That’s ’bout all I know, sir, except I heard ’em say 
they didn’t mean to hurt Edith if you’ns would do like 
they said; but if you’ns didn’t, they ’lowed to put her 
whar she couldn’t tell no tales.” 


Richard Gordon 


21 1 


I thanked this woman for her kindness in coming 
that distance, alone, to tell me what she had heard. 
She had walked three miles of the way when I met 
her, and would have come the other two without 
guide or escort to give me the information she pos- 
sessed. I then faced about, and, riding back as rap- 
idly as I had come, reached home just as the sheriff, 
Tony O’Leary, and a posse of volunteers halted at the 
gate. 


0 


212 


Richard Gordon 


CHAPTER XVI. 

It was now past midnight. I dismounted and went 
into the house to ascertain how Uncle Reuben was 
getting on. Rube had gone for the nearest physician, 
and Aunt Molly was keeping her lonely vigil at the 
bedside of the stricken old man, while the two chil- 
dren were asleep* upon a pallet on the floor. I felt 
the pulse of the sufferer. It was barely percepti- 
ble; and I noticed that a drop or two of blood had 
trickled down his left temple, while his skin had as- 
sumed a bluish, ashen hue. His respiration was la- 
bored and irregular; his hands and arms twitched and 
moved spasmodically; and when I saw these symp- 
toms I knew the old man had passed beyond the aid 
of earthly physic. He had suffered a stroke of apop- 
lexy. He might breathe yet a little while, but death 
was merely a matter of minutes. 

I could do him no good ; so I told Aunt Molly that 
Rube should remain with his father until the end came, 
and I would try to devise some means of rescuing 
Edith. I then went out and rejoined the squad of men 
at the gate ; and in order that each member might have 
a full understanding of the situation, I read the note 
which I had found at the barn to the assemblage. We 
held a council, and, after many views had been ex- 
pressed, if was seen that the concensus of opinion fa- 
vored a vigorous, direct course — the surrounding and 
capture of the culprits in their retreat. 

It was admitted that there was a possibility of the 
threat against Edith’s life being executed, in case these 
men discovered that they were entrapped. But the 
majority contended that such a course would be utter 
madness, since to murder Edith would be to seal their 


Richard Gordon 


213 


own fate beyond a preadventure ; whereas, if they 
found themselves surrounded and stripped of all hope 
of escape, they might be induced to surrender their 
captive alive in order to mitigate the offense. 

Hence it may readily be seen that I was in a tortur- 
ing dilemma. I was anxious to effect the capture of 
these desperadoes, yet I was infinitely more anxious 
to accomplish Edith's release. Tony was one of the 
strongest advocates of the aggressive policy. He was 
an Irishman, and his nature impelled him to a direct, 
short cut to any desired object. He begged me not to 
think of complying with the demands of the fiends, 
even pledging his own life as a guarantee of success. 

The sheriff, and, apparently, the entire party now 
cordially supported Tony in this view of the case, and 
I finally withdrew my objections, only urging prompt 
measures of some kind. But as the posse was com- 
posed of men from town it was necessary to secure the 
aid of some person, or persons, from this immediate 
neighborhood who were familiar with the wild region 
in which the search would have to be conducted. And 
remembering what Mrs. Suggs had told me, I set off 
for Abner and Zack to guide us to Big Owl Hollow. 
I was not long in accomplishing this, and in a few 
minutes they were ready. We then set our faces to-v 
wards the mountain fastnesses, determined not to turn 
back until the trio of wretches had been either cap- 
tured or killed. 

We did not take the blood-hounds this time, as we 
were afraid that the baying of the animals would be- 
tray our presence prematurely, and thus give the men 
an opportunity to escape. Each man realized that this 
was a case that demanded the extremest caution. There 
must be no drinking, no flourish, no unnecessary noise. 
If we hoped to succeed we must go into the affair 
systematically, discreetly, and with a fixed determina- 
tion to win. Our posse was composed of a different 
sort of men from those who had made such a fizzle 
of the attempted capture a short time before. There 


214 


Richard Gordon 


were but twenty-four of us, all told; yet that number 
of quiet, resolute men is worth ten times as many in 
the form of a disorganized mob. 

With Abner and Zack in the lead we set out for Big 
Owl Hollow, pursuing our way as noiselessly as it was 
practicable for a body of mounted men to proceed. 
Except for an occasional whispered remark, and a 
muttered monosyllabic reply, no sound of human 
origin broke the surrounding stillness. I liked this, 
for the silence accorded well with the state of my own 
feelings; and then, too, it showed that the men were 
thinking. Even Tony rode at may side, as quietly as 
if he had been the ghost of St. Patrick, instead of a 
very loquacious little Irishman. The only remark he 
had made was : 

“Keep a stiff upper lip, Mr. Gordon. I feel in me 
heart we shall win. If we don't, Tony O'Leary will 
try to give a good reason for our failure." 

And I knew that he meant it. He was a young fel- 
low — stout, generous, and brave; and I felt that he 
would rush the stronghold of the desperadoes single- 
handed, rather than that one of them should have a 
chance to escape. He was well armed with a maga- 
zine gun and a pair of pistols. So also, were the other 
members of the posse, except Abner and Zack, who 
carried on their shouders the old-fashioned deer-dogs. 
Yet these were very sure of one man to the piece when 
properly handled. 

Our plan was to push on to the Hollow as rapidly 
as the darkness and rough state of the country would 
permit. We designed to reach this spot a little before 
day-break, tie our horses in some dense thicket, and 
make the balance of the trip on foot, trusting to luck 
to aid us in locating the cave in which the men, with 
their captive, were secreted. Upon arriving there we 
would then decide upon a systematic, relentless course 
of procedure. 

We had traversed, perhaps, ten miles, when I was 
i roused from my condition of gloom and mental ab- 


Richard Gordon 


215 


straction by a suppressed exclamation from those in 
front. Abner, who, with Zack, was still leading the 
party, had found a piece of cloth hanging upon 
the thorn of a wild pivet bush. This was hurriedly 
passed back to me, and I at once identified it as a strip 
from Edith’s dress. It was frayed and soiled, but 
there was no room for question that it had been torn 
from her skirt, as the fugitives pushed through the 
prickly undergrowth. 

At this discovery a murmer of exultant approval 
arose from the men, and we urged on our horses, that 
they might keep pace with our impatience. We were 
evidently on the right track, and we forged ahead. 
This piece of cloth had been found clinging to the 
bush about four feet from the ground, and hence the 
hypothesis obtained with us that one of the kidnap- 
pers was riding the stolen horse, and carrying Edith 
in front of, or secured in some way behind, him. The 
two companions were doubtless on foot. 

Finally we reached the Hollow, and it was now 
quite dark, for, in fact, as well as in fiction, the dark- 
est hour is just before dawn. Each man dismounted 
and led his horse off in quest of a suitable place for its 
concealment. This was not hard to find, since the 
face of the ground was very rough, and the under- 
growth, in the main, quite dense. This done, we 
formed ourselves into a group, and began to discuss 
plans for further action. It was decided to separate 
our force into small details of four men to the squad, 
thus making six distinct units of the posse. 

Again recalling what Mrs. Suggs had said in her 
efforts to direct me to the cave, I climbed upon a large, 
high bowlder, from which position I could see the 
morning star, and by this means was enabled to shape 
our course due north. Thus having secured our bear- 
ings, our squads separated and took position in the 
form of a crescent, the horns pointing northward. It 
was esential to success that we should get within reach 
of the cave, wherever, it might be, at or very soon after 


2l6 


Richard Gordon 


daylight. So at the command, “Forward, men, and 
keep your eyes open,” we began to push our way 
through the underbrush. 

The quartet to which I had been assigned consisted 
of Tony, Abner, Zack and myself, and I was gratified 
at being associated with three old acquaintances. 
Owing to the conformation of the ground it was al- 
most impossible to preserve anything resembling mili- 
tary order, for, in some places it was necessary to go 
single file, while at others we were forced to separate 
in order to get over or around obstacles. But we man- 
aged to keep in pretty close touch, for all that; and 
moved on at the rate of about three miles an hour. 
This was very good speed, but then we were in a hur- 
ry. 

We moved forward in this manner for about three- 
quarters of an hour, examining every elevation and de- 
pression to see if there was aught that might suggest 
the mouth of a cave. By this time the day had dawned 
and we could distinguish objects about us without 
difficulty. Tony, who was walking at my right, sud- 
denly stopped — 

“Hold ! This way, Mr. Gordon.” 

I hurried over and found him stooping over some- 
thing on the ground. 

“Look there.” 

I looked ; and there was the distinct impression of 
a horse’s shoe — yes, the print of Orville’s foot. I rec- 
ognized it at a glance, for he had always worn a light 
steel shoe, without a cork, and his feet were unusually 
small, indicating his good breeding. 

My breath came fast as we made this discovery, and 
my heart leaped into my throat. From this point we 
followed the horse’s tracks without trouble, and about 
a hundred yards farther I found another strip of 
Edith’s clothing, which had been snatched by some, 
to me, friendly thornbush. I could hardly restrain 
myself, and keep from pushing op at a run. 


Richard Gordon 


217 


Yet I held back, knowing that a false step, or an in- 
discreet act, might thwart our plans, if it did not seal 
Edith's fate. It was now broad daylight, and we 
pushed on in a stooping position lest we should stum- 
ble upon something that would betray us. Occasion- 
ally we could hear the faint sound of a snapping limb, 
as the other squads groped their way through the 
bushes. 

The horse tracks were still visible, and conducted 
us along a slightly beaten path, which ran in a •norther- 
ly direction. Evidently Mrs. Suggs' ears had not de- 
ceived her, for the information she had given me, 
though somewhat vague, was nevertheless correct. I 
knew we had the trail, and God knew I hoped we 
might run the game to earth. Every fiber of my being 
was aquiver, every chord strung to the utmost ten- 
sion. 

I knelt down to get a drink of water from a small 
spring branch that trickled across our course, and as 
I rose up I heard, evidently at some distance ahead, 
the prolonged, piteous howl of a dog. We stopped 
short, and listened intently for the space of a minute 
or two. At the expiration of this time the reverbera- 
ting sound of a gun-shot rang out on the light morn- 
ing air. This report was quickly followed by a sec- 
ond; then everything grew still. 

I felt instinctively that the crucial moment had come 
and, pulling my hat down on my forehead, plunged 
forward as fast as I could run. The three other mem- 
bers of my squad followed as best they could, but I 
was maddened by the thought that these shots might 
be the announcement of Edith's murder . On I went, 
getting faster as I sped, when, upon reaching a turn 
in the path, I crashed bolt against Orville's breast. 
At this shock I staggered backwards, and the sudden 
stoppage of the horse pitched his rider forward into 
my arms. That rider was Edith — but, Oh, God ! in 
such a plight! 


2 18 


Richard Gordon 


As she fell from the saddle the dog, Calico, dropped 
from her lap to the ground, and at the same time a 
heavy iron ball struck the earth with a thud, ac- 
companied by the clanking of a chain. 

“Edith, Edith, in heaven’s name, what has hap- 
pened. Tell me quick.” 

“I shot two of them and made my escape from the 
cave. But I did not kill them, and they are pursuing 
me. They shot at me twice as I mounted the horse 
and got* away. They are coming behind somwehere 
on foot.” 

By this time our companions had reached us, and 
the rage into which the sight of Edith’s condition 
threw me was terrific. Her face, neck, arms and hands 
were cruelly cut, bruised and swollen ; her long, dark 
hair hung loose about her shoulders and waist; while 
her garments had been almost stripped from her 
body. In addition to these marks of barbarity the 
fiends had fastened a convict’s chain and ball to her 
ankle. But I took in the situation at a glance; jerked 
off my coat to make her a seat ; and then, pulling* out 
my knife, handed it to Abner, saying : 

“Take the file blade of my knife and saw that in- 
fernal thing off Edith’s leg. I will be back directly.” 

I then ran on, following the path along which Edith 
had come, and if ever mortal man was frenzied I was 
in that exact state. When a fellow feels as I did, blood 
is the only thing that will appease him. I pushed ahead 
for about a quarter of a mile, and upon glancing into 
a comparatively clear spot near a rough cliff I saw 
three men coming towards me. Two were endeavor- 
ing to support the third, who, apparently, was wound- 
ed. This third man I recognized as Brum Legore, 
and one of the others was Simp Suggs. The last one 
I did not know. As soon as I had got within good ear- 
shot I shouted: 

“Halt ! Hands up !” 

At this command they stopped, let go the wounded 
comrade, and stood for a moment gazing at me. Then 


Richard Gordon 


219 


Legore dropped upon his knees, and was in the act of 
firing at me. But he did not have that pleasure ; for, 
taking quick, but accurate aim, I sent a polished steel 
messenger directly through his crime-blackened heart. 

Just as Legore toppled over, the two associates 
turned and started to run ; but a second shot brought 
Simp down, where he lay upon his face, apparently 
dead. 

At this point — and. it was all done in a few seconds 
— Tony and Zack came upon the scene, and together 
we gave chase to the third and last of this infernal trio. 
He had dodged so skillfully we failed to get a shot at 
him, but saw the soles of his shoes as he crawled into 
the entrance to a cave in the side of a hill. With the 
speed of the wind Tony sprang after the disappear- 
ing fugitive, and, stooping down on his hands and 
knees, followed him into the den. 

In a few moments after Tony vanished I heard the 
report of a gun that had been discharged inside the 
cavern. This sound had scarcely died when it was 
answered by another shot; and directly I saw Tony 
coming out, crab-fashion, dragging some heavy ob- 
ject after him. He had got his man, and was hauling 
him out by the heels. 

I remained upon the ground long enough to ascer- 
tain the outcome of Tony's raid, and was gratified to 
learn that, though wounded, he was not seriously 
hurt. The shot of the cornered desperado had grazed 
his cheek and carried away a segment of the lobe of 
his ear, and from these two places he was bleeding 
profusely. But the man he had dragged out of the 
hole was limp and lifeless. He had stolen his last 
horse — kidnaped his last girl. 

As I turned to retrace my steps, intending to go 
back to where I had left Edith, I met the sheriff and 
the other members of the posse. 

“Well, Mr. Gordon, you and Tony seem to have 
made a complete job of it. You have left us but lit- 
tle to do." 


220 


Richard Gordon 


“I hope so/’ I answered, and continued on my way. 

As I passed the still, prostrate form of Suggs, I 
stopped and turned it over. Foamy blood was oozing 
from the mouth, ears, and nostrils, and I saw that my 
business with him was finished. But I would not ap- 
proach the body of Brum Legore, lest I should be 
tempted to kick and spit upon a corpse. He had lived 
the life, died the death, of a mad-dog, and I would 
not soil the soles of my boots with the venom from his 
' veins. And I went back to Edith. 

Abner was with her and had succeeded in filing the 
iron band from her ankle. She was lying on my coat, 
her head resting on her folded arms; and I could not 
repress my tears as I looked upon her pitiable plight. 
Her lips were contused and cut, while ridgy, blue 
whelks disfigured her throat. 

Patches of skin had been torn from her hands and 
wrists, and her fingers about the nails had been bleed- 
ing. The sight of her lying there well-night broke my 
heart. I knelt down by her side, took her head on 
my arm, and asked: 

“Edith, are you sick ?” 

“I don’t know, I’m exhausted.” 

Remembering that I had put a flask of brandy in 
my pocket, I drew it out, held it to her lips, and urged 
her to drink as much as she could. She drank about a 
gill, and in a few minutes the stimulating spirits began 
to revive her. She sat up, then turned to me and 
said : 

“Richard, I want to go home.” 

“Do you think you are equal to the ride ?” 

“I will be equal to it.” 

She attempted to rise and I helped her to her feet. 
I then told Abner to take charge of my gun, adding 
that I did not think I should need it again soon. 

Thereupon I lifted Edith into the saddle, and, tak- 
ing the wounded dog under my arm, started towards 
home. 


Richard Gordon 


221 


“Edith,” said I, “tell me what has befallen you. 
Tell me all.” 

“Everything happened to me, Richard, except the 
worst of all things. The brutes did not attempt to per- 
petrate that unmentionable crime. If they had, I 
should not have been here alive.” 

“I thank the God above us for that assurance.” 

“No; they wanted money, and expected you to ran- 
som me. But I am glad you did not have to do so hu- 
miliating a thing. Who killed them?” 

“I shot Legore and Suggs, and O'Leary got the 
third fellow.” 

“I am glad you killed those two; they were worse 
than the other man.” 

When we had reached the entrance to Big Owl Hol- 
low we met a company of men on horseback, which 
was composed of more than a hundred ‘members. 
These men were armed with all kinds of weapons, 
while several of them carried hempen ropes. I knew 
what this meant, or would have meant, if the felons 
had been taken alive. I drew our horse to one side to 
permit the troop to pass, and as I did so the leader in- 
quired of me, what had become of the fugitives. I 
told him, and a murmur of disappointment arose from 
the company. 

The troopers, however, passed on in quest of the 
sheriff and the posse I had left at the cave. I then went 
for the horse I had ridden from home, and, finding it, 
we continued our journey. Then said I: 

“Edith, if you feel strong enough to talk, tell me 
everything about this deplorable affair. Begin at the 
first, and tell me how it happened, and why you went 
out to the barn alone.” 

“I was worried at the loss of my driving gloves, and 
it occurred to me that I might have put them under the 
seat of the buggy. So I went out to the kennel, called 
Calico, and started towards the barn. But the sensi- 
ble creature seemed to know that something was wrong, 
for she began to growl as soon as I got half-way the 


222 


Richard Gordon 


lot. Thinking she was aroused without cause, I pat- 
ted her on the head and went to the shed in which we 
had put the buggy. As I was in the act of lifting the 
cushion, two men seized me, one pinning my arms to 
my body, while the other held his hand tightly clasped 
over my mouth. A third person dealt Calico a blow 
on the head with a club, and I thought the lick had 
killed her, for she fell upon her side without making 
a sound. 

“I fought my assailants desperately, furiously. I 
scratched them and bit the hand that was held over 
my mouth. But one weak girl against three strong 
ruffians was too unequal a struggle, and in a short time 
I was forced to succumb. They threw me upon the 
ground, gagged me, bandaged my eyes, and bound my 
hands and feet. In this condition I was utterly pow- 
erless to move or to make an outcry. And when they 
had secured me in this way, one of them stood by me, 
while the other two forced open the stable door and 
led out my horse. 

“Legore then mounted and Suggs and the other 
man lifted me up in front of him. The two on the 
ground then securely lashed me to Legore’s waist, 
so that I could not have slipped off without pulling 
him off too. I was bruised and bleeding from the 
hurts I had received, but entirely conscious of every- 
thing they did. And as we passed the mill, Legore 
said: 

“ ‘Thar’s whar you beat me, my fine gal, but I’ll 
make it even. We ain’t goin’ to hurt you, if you will 
be still. That young fellow of yourn has got money — 
we’ve got you; and when he finds the note we left for 
him, maybe he’ll be willin’ to pay for you. If he does 
you’ll be back home in a day or so, not much the worse 
for your trip.’ 

“On and on they took me through the chill night air 
and the utter darkness. I could neither see nor speak, 
and the gag hurt my mouth terribly. I made no effort 
to free myself then, for I knew it would be useless, 


Richard Gordon 


223 


and perhaps make them harsher in their treatment of 
me. How long I was held in that painful position I 
could not tell, for it seemed that the awful journey 
would never end. But at last, when I was on the verge 
of collapse from pain, cold, and exhaustion, they 
halted. 

“The two men on foot unfastened the rope that 
bound me to Legore and lifted me from the horse. 
I could not stand, so they placed me in a sitting posi- 
tion on the ground. Suggs then took charge of my 
horse, leading him off to some place in the forest, 
while Legore and the other man dragged me into the 
cave. Although I was blindfolded I could still under- 
stand from their conversation what was taking place ; 
and when Suggs had entered the cavern and rolled 
a large stone against the entrance, Legore lighted a 
tallow candle and took the gag from my mouth. This 
gave me inexpressible relief, for the gagging was by 
far the most painful torture that I was forced to en- 
dure. After removing this he unbound my ankles, 
putting the iron band, with chain and ball on one of 
my limbs. But he did not take the bandage from my 
eyes, nor untie my hands. 

“With this he. left me, and the three men then bus- 
ied themselves preparing something' to eat. They 
kindled a fire at the extreme end of the cave, and in a 
short time I could detect the odor of broiling bacon. 
When this was done Legore brought me a slice of meat 
and a piece of bread, and, although my hands were 
tied, I took the food and ate it. I did this, not because 
I was hungry or relished the food, but in order to 
keep up my strength. I intended to make an effort 
to escape if I had the slightest chance of succeeding, 
and I knew that food would help me to maintain the 
necessary courage. By this time I was growing sore 
and stiff in my body and limbs, and the damp atmos- 
phere of the cave seemed to make my condition worse. 

“Yet all of my faculties of mind were on the alert, 
and I hoped that if I could not overcome my captors 


224 


Richard Gordon 


by force, I might be able to outwit them in some way, 
and effect my escape. After they had eaten their meal 
they sat for some time talking, but in such low tones 
I could not distinguish their words. I feigned sleep, 
and lay down with my head resting on a stone. But 
all the while I was working, twisting, and tugging to 
free my hands ; and. after nearly an hour spent in 
these efforts, I succeeded in slipping one hand out of 
the loop. It was then the work of but a few moments 
to get the other free. In doing this I tore and bruised 
my hands badly, but I did not mind that, for I knew 
that with my hands loose I was in a much better po- 
sition to accomplish my purpose. 

“I slyly slipped the bandage up so that I could see 
the men and watch my opportunities. They were seat- 
ed on kegs, and had leant their two rifles against the 
wall of the cavern not a great distance from where I 
was lying. At intervals of a few minutes they would 
drink some kind of liquor, which I took to be whiskey, 
and I soon realized to my joy that they were becom- 
ing drowsy and stupid from the effects of the spirits. 
They did not get boisterous, but sleepy and torpid, and 
soon I heard heavy breathing, then snoring, which 
made my heart beat with excitement and hope. 

“I could not tell whether it was night or day, but 
did not think it would make much difference if I could 
only once get outside the cave. As the snoring con- 
tinued and grew louder, I took the bandage off my 
head, and, quietly raising the ball, gathered up the 
chain very slowly, so as to make no sound. I then 
stood upright, holding the chain taut, to keep the 
links from clanking. 

“Creeping noiselessly towards the two guns, I seized 
them, and my first impulse was to shoot my captors 
down. But it struck me that it would be too brutal 
to shoot sleeping men, even though they were villians. 
So I started towards the entrance to the cave, when the 
stock of one of the rifles struck the chain, making a 
sound that aroused the sleepers. 


Richard Gordon 


225 


“They sprang up in a confused, dazed condition, and 
started for the guns, but finding them gone, they began 
to rage and curse like madmen. Then they discovered 
me as I ran towards the mouth of the cave, and all 
three rushed after me. Legore was in front, and, 
dropping one gun, I fired, wounding him somewhere 
about the body. This shot made him stagger against 
the wall, where he stood, swearing and urging the 
others to follow me. Suggs then approached, with 
pistol in hand, but I was too quick for him, and, be- 
fore he could shoot, I had wounded him, too. At this 
the third man ran and hid in a niche, where I could 
not see him. 

“I felt that I had not killed the two men, for I was 
too weak and nervous to take deliberate aim ; but by 
wounding them I had gained the advantage in time. 
So I ran to the entrance, still holding the ball in one 
hand and one rifle in the other. This aperture was 
closed with a large, heavy stone that completely filled 
the space; but by using the gun as a lever, I suc- 
ceeded in removing the obstruction so far as to allow 
me to crawl out. When I got outside I saw that it 
was light, and ran into the bushes as fast as I could, 
hoping to dodge my pursuers. The heavy chain and 
ball hampered me so badly I could not run fast, and 
as I had broken the breech of the rifle I used in priz- 
ing the stone from the mouth of the cave, I had noth- 
ing with which to defend myself. 

“I stopped and listened. I could hear the voices of 
the men behind me in angry tones, as each one cursed 
the others for allowing me to escape. But just then I 
heard the howl of a dog whose voice I recognized, and 
ran in that direction as fast as I could go. Upon reach- 
ing the spot I found poor old Calico lying near Or- 
ville, with her head almost split open. She had re- 
vived after being struck at the barn and followed us 
to where the horse was hitched. So I untied Orville 
as quickly as possible, and putting my dog on top of a 
large rock, I climbed into the saddle. I then took both 


226 


Richard Gordon 


the ball and the dog on my lap, and, with the reins be- 
tween my teeth, made a dash for home. 

“The men caught a glimpse of me as I started, and 
fired at me twice ; but their bullets went over my head, 
and I got away. I did not know where I was ; but Or- 
ville knew, and he was bringing me home when you 
met me.” 

********* 

She had told me the story. It was a cruel one, and 
it harried the depths of my soul. We were now rid- 
ing through familiar scenes, and I knew we were ap- 
proaching home. I kept close beside Edith's horse, 
and watched her constantly, anxiously. Her head had 
begun to droop, and a bluish pallor overspread her 
bruised face. The bridle reins dropped from her 
nerveless hands, and she would have fallen from her 
horse ; but I leaned over quickly and caught her. 
And as I lifted her from her own horse and held her 
in front of me, she said: 

“Richard, I am very sick." 

These words she uttered in a whisper. Her head 
dropped upon my breast. She had passed into an ab- 
solute syncope. 

Strong, brave natures may endure much, but when 
the last straw has been laid on the collapse, the down- 
break, is complete. 

As I rode up to the gate I saw that an unusually 
large number of people had assembled at the house. 


Richard Gordon 


227 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Some one, I canot recall who, assisted me in carry- 
ing Edith to the house, and up to her room. Her form 
was limp and nerveless, and we laid her on the bed. 
Kindly female friends then took charge of her, bathed 
her stained and swollen face, and arranged her dis- 
heveled hair. They replaced the soiled, tattered gar- 
ments in which I had fetched her home with a snowy, 
lace-inserted and lace-trimmed night-robe. 

When this was done I went in and placed my ear 
close to her left breast. I could detect the slow, meas- 
ured beat of her heart. Its action was faint, but regu- 
lar; and hope within me refused to die. 

I ’phoned for the nearest physician, and at the same 
time, summoned the leading practitioner from town. 
The two met at the bedside, and, after a thorough ex- 
amination, pronounced her case to be one of nervous 
collapse, complicated with marked symptoms of brain 
fever. Upon hearing the diagnosis I knew what to ex- 
pect, and at once engaged a professional nurse from 
Nashville. 

And Uncle Reuben was dead. The poor, fond old 
heart had been crushed by the cruel uncertainty of 
Edith’s fate. That he had loved “The Child” more 
devotedly than any other earthly object I well knew, 
and when I left him the night before I did not expect 
to see him again in life. I saw then that his hours, 
his minutes, were numbered ; yet I could not stay to 
note the end. He had died peacefully, without a strug- 
gle — and many people had assembled to do honor to 
the dust of the aged dead. 

The funeral services immediately preceding the 
burial would be held on the morrow in the afternoon. 


228 


Richard Gordon 


This time had been appointed in order to communi- 
cate the news of his death to the more distant relatives, 
and give them an opportunity to attend the last sad 
rites. Such, however, as were living in other States 
could not be expected to attend, since the interval be- 
tween death and interment must needs be too short. 
Yet the family connection, even in the immediate sec- 
tion, was so extensive it was deemed advisable to de- 
lay the burial as long as practicable; and as the body 
had been embalmed, there was no likelihood of un- 
favorable results. 

Uncle Reuben had been the oldest man in the com- 
munity, and his unpretentious, upright life had given 
him the highest place in the esteem of his neighbors 
and acquaintances. His worth as a man had been rec- 
ognized, and his services to his country universally 
known and appreciated. His uniform kindness and 
unstinted charity towards the needy of his neighbor- 
hood had rendered him an object of special veneration 
to the poorer class of citizens. He had given freely 
of his means to help them when in distress, and it was 
a well-known fact that more than one-half of the 
grinding at the mill was done without charge or com- 
pensation. 

In this age of selfishness and greed such a life had 
been a manifold blessing — its end a benediction, And 
when a man like this dies and passes from the stage of 
human affairs, there is a sigh of heart-born sadness, 
a tear of genuine grief. 

After doing everything in my power to assist in 
perfecting arangements for the funeral services and 
interment, I went up to Edith’s room, and, for the 
present at least, took upon myself the duties of nurse. 
I was distressingly ignorant of such things, and in my 
movements was blundering and awkward ; but my 
heart was sore, and my hands should do the best they 
could. Aunt Molly’s whole time was occupied with 
other matters, and I was not willing that Edith’s life 


Richard Gordon 


229 

should be intrusted to the care of comparative stran- 
gers. 

The physicians had administered some powerful an- 
aleptic, which completely restored animation ; but this 
was followed by a burning fever, and she was now in 
the throes of delirium. She moved her head from side 
to side and tossed her hands restlessly; and at inter- 
vals the muscles of her body would twitch and jerk 
spasmodically, clearly indicating that, while she was 
oblivious to the sense of pain, her form was shaken 
by torture. 

At such times I would stand at her bed, holding her 
hands, or gently stroking her hot brow. She talked 
almost incessantly, yet her mind was wandering; her 
words incoherent — “like sweet bells jangled, out of 
tune” — but not harsh. It might have been that my 
ignorance of the effects of disease served to increase 
my distress, but whenever she spoke in her low, plain- 
tive voice, I sobbed like a child. If tears for Edith 
were unmanly, then I must be molded anew to become 
a man. 

One of the physicians, in compliance with my spe- 
cial request, called upon the patient before nightfall, 
and, seeing her condition, gave her a sedative of some 
kind. This had the effect of quieting her to a great 
extent, and while she was under the influence of the 
drug, I lay down on a cot to obtain a few moments' 
rest. I had not closed my eyes for two days and a 
night, and was beginning to feel some fatigue. I did 
not sleep, however; or, if I did, it was in cat-naps of 
only a few moments' duration. All the while I could 
hear the measured sound of her respiration, and if a 
nerve or muscle of her body quivered I knew it. 

I did not leave her side, except for a few minutes 
at the supper hour, and then I did not leave her alone. 
After this I took my place again and kept it through- 
out the night. I turned her from one side upon the 
other, when I thought she had lain long enough in one 
position. I kept a cloth saturated with cool water con- 


230 


Richard Gordon 


stantly upon her forehead, and bathed her hands and 
arms frequently, hoping thus to allay the fever. I had 
no means of taking her temperature, but I could count 
her pulse, and saw that it was fierce and rapid. I was 
not a physician, nor was I a nurse ; but I knew that her 
precious form was become the battle-ground, the scene 
of conflict, between the principles of life and the ele- 
ments of death ; and God knew that if there was aught 
within my power that could turn the tide in favor of 
the former, it should not be withheld. 

Sadly, anxiously, I sat by the bedside alone, admin- 
istering medicine — doing all — everything that the 
heart of affection, the soul of idolatry, could invent or 
suggest. I did not know what these drugs were, nor 
what their effect would be, but I followed directions 
scrupulously, and hoped for the best. 

A short while after daybreak next morning I sent 
Abner over to town for a hundred pounds of ice. Some 
of this I crushed, and, folding the fine particles in a 
cloth, placed the cold poultice on Edith's forehead 
and temples. I also gave her quantities of it with a 
spoon, and she took it with evident relish. I did not 
know whether this was in accordance with materia 
medica ; nor did I ask any questions about it ; but I 
saw that Edith enjoyed it, and I slipped it in as my own 
prescription. It was an advantage to her in that it 
diminished the fever, and seemed to assuage the pain, 
although it may not have touched the cause of her 
illness. 

I kept Abner busy, for no sooner had be brought the 
ice than I turned him back to meet the incoming train 
and fetch over the lady whom I had engaged as a 
nurse. I could have made one trip serve both pur- 
poses, but then I would have had to wait for the ice; 
and I had learned that time, taken by the forelock, was 
more easily controlled than when one attempted to hold 
it by the tail. In sickness, as well as in other things, 
promptness means much. I infinitely preferred to 
make the horse travel sixteen miles without rest, rather 


Richard Gordon 


231 

than that Edith should suffer one moment of avoid- 
able pain. 

In due time the nurse arrived, and I conducted he* 
to the sick room. I then told her what I had done 
with regard to the application of ice-cold cloths to my 
patient’s head, and was gratified to learn that in my 
ignorance and awkwardness I had stumbled upon the 
ver^ thing I should have done. I had acted upon the 
idea that heat and cold were two incompatible things, 
and thought that if I kept enough ice on Edith’s head 
the fever would have to abate. The disease, however, 
had taken a strong, firm hold, and it would require 
more than the application of ice to compel it to relax 
its tightening grip. I was heartily glad when the 
nurse came; not that I would have shirked the duty, 
but because I was anxious to have some one present 
upon whose knowledge, skill, and experience I might 
rely. Upon myself I could not depend, since, in and 
of such matters, I had neither knowledge, skill, nor 
experience. 

Edith was still delirious and did not recognize any 
one; but even in this condition it was not difficult to 
induce her to take medicine or nourishment. She 
was the most obedient and tractable of patients, and 
had it not been for my anxiety and distress at her 
state, it would have been a pleasure to wait on her. 
The moving of feet and other sounds, however, which 
were made by those downstairs in preparing for the ap- 
proaching funeral seemed to disturb her and militate 
against the prospect of desired rest; and I hoped that 
after the services were over she would be favored 
with a greater degree of quietude. 

I rightly inferred from the questions that the nurse 
asked me that Abner had enlightened her on the way 
over as to the cause of Edith’s illness. She inquired 
particularly whether the patient had received a blow 
of any kind on the head, or had suffered internal in- 
jury. But I told her I felt reasonably sure the only 
hurts she had sustained were those that were visible 


232 


Richard Gordon 


about her face, neck, hands, and ankle ; since, in giv- 
ing me a history of the ordeal, Edith had not men- 
tioned anything of that sort. 

“Then,” said she, “if it is merely a case involving 
the brain and nerves, my course will be clear. The 
struggle will be to conserve the mind.” 

“Spare no effort or expense to accomplish that,” I 
said, “for Edith mindless would be Edith lost.” 

“I will do my best.” 

And she looked as if she meant what she said. 

Funerals are sad, saddening occasions, no odds 
whose the post of honor. And death is honorable, if 
it be met in the right way. But whether right or 
wrong, it is something we will all have to meet. It is 
a requisition that will admit of neither denial, proxy, 
nor substitute, and the best one can do is to keep his 
regimentals clean, and face it like a man. No matter 
how good or great one may be, better men and women 
have gone before. No man need flatter himself that 
he is too good to die. The day of translation is passed, 
and if it were not, few mantles would i>e fit to fling 
back onto the shoulders of a succeeding generation. 
Every age must weave its own raiment, for fashions 
change, and mores with them. It is idle to take a false 
unction to one’s soul. The humblest sinner is too 
proud to wear cast-off clothes, since he shrewdly sus- 
pects that every fellow will be buried in his best. 
And after he is buried, what then? A scramble over 
the estate — a grab for what is left. 

Just before the hour appointed for the funeral serv- 
ice I went down and joined the immense throng that 
had assembled to pay its respects to the memory of 
the venerated dead. The house itself was wholly in- 
adequate for the occasion, and by far the greater num- 
ber of males were forced to remain out of doors. So 
they stood in groups about the yard, whittling sticks 
in silence, or discussing in subdued tones the life and 
qualities of the departed patriarch. 


Richard Gordon 


233 


The occasion was a solemn one to me. I had become 
strongly attached to the old man, and had been given 
every reason to believe that my feelings towards him 
were unreservedly reciprocated. I had never stopped 
to inquire of myself whether or not I was deserving 
of his good will ; it was sufficient for me to know that 
I possessed it. And I knew that whatever might be 
the outcome of my affairs in other ways, I had lost a 
friend in Uncle Reuben. 

And then, too, he was so soon to have sustained a 
closer relation to me than that of mere friendship. 
Edith’s grandfather would have become my grand- 
father; and how I was bowed in grief as I attended 
his obsequies. Only forty-eight hours before, and the 
stream of my affairs seemed to be flowing without a 
ripple. Today, what? Uncle Reuben dead — Edith 
struggling with the grim powers of death. My spirits 
were as sea-weed ; my heart was as lead. 

The officiating minister proceeded with his dis- 
course ; but his words fell upon my ears as water falls 
upon a rock. I scarcely heard them ; they made no 
impression. And when his sermon was concluded I 
was made sensible of the fact only by the singing, 
which was a change in the proceedings. I saw, in an 
absent-minded way that several men then took hold of 
the coffin and bore it from the room. The minister 
and the immediate relatives, who were numerous, fol- 
lowed close upon the pall-bearers ; and not until the 
last kinsman had left the house did I take my way to 
the family grave-yard. 

The services were here terminated with a song and 
prayer, the latter being offered as the last spadeful of 
earth was placed upon the oblong mound. The preach- 
er prayed this prayer : 

“And now, our Heavenly Father, as we commit this 
earthly tabernacle to the bosom of its kindred clay, 
we believe that thou hast taken the soul of the de- 
parted unto thine own glorified self. Do thou, we 
humbly beseech thee, consecrate the example of an hon- 


2 34 


Richard Gordon 


orable and an upright life to the spiritual upbuilding 
of those who survive. Bless the many relatives and 
friends of the deceased. Bless us all, and make of us 
men and women meet unto thy service. 

“And finally, Oh, God, we would implore thee to 
look down in tenderest compassion upon the couch 
of that gentle, suffering spirit who lies battling with 
the grim forces of the arch enemy of life. Spare her, 
if thou wilt. But if in thine omniscience thou shouldst 
see fit to remove her from the ills of earth, we would 
beg that thou wilt translate her stainless soul unto 
that heavenly abode which thou hast builded for the 
pure, the virtuous, and the just.” 

I knelt down upon the sward and sobbed — Amen! 
Clusters and wreaths of flowers were then laid upon 
the grave, when the assemblage, with tearstained faces, 
left the spot. 

As I turned away from the burying-ground I no- 
ticed, notwithstanding my abstraction, that many of 
those in the concourse regarded me with looks of cu- 
riosity, if not of interest. Groups of men, and some 
women, would stop and stare at me as I walked to- 
wards the house. Some of them I had seen before 
and recognized, but the majority of them I did not 
know. And my conjectures as to the cause of this un- 
usual attention might not have been enlightened or 
confirmed, except that I overheard one man say as I 
passed : 

“Thar goes the chap that fetched down two of the 
bullies.” 

Then I knew it was the fact that I had killed Le- 
go re and Suggs that rendered me an object of curi- 
osity to these people. I had almost forgotten the inci- 
dent, as it had become so completely overshadowed by 
Uncle Reuben’s death and Edith’s critical illness. In 
other circumstances I would doubtless have thought 
of and brooded over the miserable affair — possibly 
have had nightmare, and been harried by ghostly vis- 


Richard Gordon 


235 

ions of bleeding, dying men. But, as it was, I had 
not slept, and waking I did not dream. 

Yet I was beginning to realize that sleep is an ab- 
solute physical necessity. It had now been two nights 
and nearly three days since I had taken so much as a 
nap of any consequence. 

I was sensibly weakening under the strain ; so I 
went into my room, took off my coat and shoes, and 
threw myself across the bed. For six hours I slept 
that peaceful, dreamless sleep that is so great a boon to 
one who has been in my frayed, run-down condition. 
Had it not been for this recuperation I too, no doubt, 
would have been forced upon the sick list, for even 
youth, with all its buoyancy and elasticity, cannot with- 
stand everything. 

After this I felt stronger, more cheerful, and shook 
off to some extent the pall of melancholy that had be- 
gun to envelop and stifle me. For I believed then, as 
I believe now, that one may think himself into the 
madhouse or the grave as effectually, if not as quickly, 
as he could get there by any other means. So I re- 
solved to set my wits and my hands to work to bring 
about Edith's recovery, if this result could be achieved 
by human agency. I may have worried the nurse 
with my frequent inquiries about Edith's condition, 
and by persistent efforts to effect a change for the bet- 
ter ; but if I did she was too courteous and considerate 
to display impatience or irritability. She understood 
my relation to the patient, and a womanly sense of 
compassion rendered her more tolerant of my inter- 
ference than she might otherwise have been. Yet I 
did not presume to direct her, for I was fully con- 
vinced that she knew more about her work than I did. 

The position of watcher at the bedside of a loved 
one is a trying ordeal ; and especially is this true if that 
watcher's ignorance of the characteristics of the dis- 
ease robs him of the ability to understand its develop- 
ments and appreciate its mutations. I had never 
known much of sickness, and as I sat intently gazing 


236 


Richard Gordon 


at Edith’s pallid face, I was filled with a sense of awe 
at the work of a hidden foe. Had it assumed a tangi- 
ble form I should not have been slow to act ; but it was 
something in the presence of which will stood power- 
less and strength was but as a babe. The stronger, 
the more willing was I to do, the less I could accom- 
plish. 

The first four or five days of Edith’s illness were 
marked by extreme restlessness ; but after this period 
was passed she lapsed into a state of both mental and 
physical coma. For hours she would lie, white, nerve- 
less and motionless; and but for the faint stroke of 
her heart and the gentle undulation of breathing, I 
should have thought she was dead. So complete, so 
profound was this comatous condition it was difficult 
to administer either medicine or nourishment. I could 
not understand this state of things. I felt that some- 
thing should, something must be done, if I would 
snatch her from the grave. And while I believed the 
two local physicians were doing their best, I could not 
persuade myself that they were doing all that might be 
done for her. Hence I summoned a specialist from 
Nashville, in the hope that he might be able to effect 
a change in her distressing condition. 

He came, examined her closely, scientifically, left a 
vial of some new-fangled decoction, and departed, 
saying it would require time to determine the result. 
I inferred from this that the malady had not yet at- 
tained its height, had not reached the crisis. So I 
must still watch and wait; and I would do this with- 
out a murmur, if my patience was to be rewarded. 1 
had nothing else to do, and if I had had it would have 
been neglected. I thought of nothing, talked of noth- 
ing but Edith’s recovery. 

I would sit by her bed for hours at a time, softly 
and as gently as possible, chafing her arms and hands 
in the effort to encourage circulation. The fever had 
been conquered, but it had left her in a state of utter 
physical exhaustion, of complete mental oblivion. 


Richard Gordon 


237 


The case was a puzzle to me. I could not compre- 
hend how one could exist, have a state of being, and 
still exhibit no outward signs of animation. 

Matters, I supposed, went on about the place as 
usual; but I took no interest in them. I ate and 
slept occasionally, merely that I might sustain life and 
strength to hold out to the end of Edith's struggle. 
If that should terminate in victory for the disease, I 
did not think I should ever again have a care how 
things might go. I loved her deeply, absorbingly, 
and her death would crush me into a mass of spirit- 
less clay. 

I had made it a rule to sit at Edith's bedside when- 
ever the nurse left the room for any purpose, and al- 
ways when she was absent at her meals. I was thus 
stationed one morning, when by some chance I was 
reminded of the fact that this was the day upon which 
we were to have been married. The remembrance of 
this gave me intense grief, and I could not keep back 
a bitter tear. The nurse was downstairs at breakfast, 
and, being alone, I did not feel ashamed of my weak- 
ness. I looked longingly, sadly, and almost hopelessly 
at the still, emaciate form that I absolutely adored. I 
could bear the strain no longer, and rising from my 
seat I went to the mantel-piece and picked up a bottle 
of medicine that was standing on the board. I was 
in the act of turning it in my hand to examine the 
label, when, from some cause, it slipped through my 
fingers and fell upon the hearth with a jingling crash. 
Liquid and shattered glass flew in every direction, and 
I was keenly mortified at this result of my careless- 
ness. But one may best imagine my feelings when I 
heard a low, sweet voice from the white pillows, ask- 
ing: 

“Why, Richard, what have you done?" 

Well, I was no longer concerned about what I had 
done. I merely depose as to what I did do. One long- 
legged leap landed me at the bedside ; a pair of eager, 
strong arms caught up the wasted form, and I verily 


238 


Richard Gordon 


believe that if she had not winced a little I would then 
and there have completed the work of disease, and 
crushed or smothered her. In a moment, and as a re- 
sult of the simple act of dropping the medicine bot- 
tle, Edith had been startled, snatched from the whet- 
ted teeth of the tomb. It seemed like a stroke of irony, 
a protest of nature against drugs and drugology, that 
when I had spilled the medicine, the patient should 
have been quickened into life and consciousness. For 
in the depths of her blue eyes was the light of intelli- 
gence, and her countenance announced that reason was 
again on its throne. 

I laid her back on the pillows, looked at her, to be 
sure that I was not daft; then turned and capered 
about the room like a lunatic. I never knew whether 
the nurse, upon hearing the noise, supposed there was 
a maniac in the room or not; but, at any rate, she 
came hurriedly in to ascertain the cause of the un- 
seemly commotion. And to this good day, Edith in- 
sists, solemnly avers, that as she came into the room, 
I caught and hugged her, too. This impeachment I 
never exactly knew whether to confirm or deny; but 
what I do know is, that if I did kiss and hug the nurse, 
she was generous and forgiving enough to waive her 
right to sue for damages. 


Richard Gordon 


239 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

“Edith, this is Miss Murray, a lady to whose kind- 
ness, patience and skill as a nurse I owe all that I con- 
sider of any value — your precious life.” 

She held out her thin, white hand and laid it in that 
of the nurse. 

“I have had such a long, long sleep — and I feel pros- 
trated by the very length and soundness of my slum- 
ber . I am so weak. Have I been ill ?” 

“Yes, my dear, you have been quite ill, but I hope 
you will soon be well now,” 

This from the nurse, as she stood holding and gen- 
tly stroking the patient's hand. 

“I was dreaming of Christmas, and thought some 
one threw a giant cracker at my feet, and it exploded 
as it fell. This noise awoke me.” 

“There, Miss Murray, are the scraps of the gun 
that exploded. I dropped that bottle.” 

And I pointed to the particles of shattered glass 
that lay scattered about the hearth and floor. 

“It was a most fortunate accident, I am sure,” said 
she ; “and a singular one in its effort. The breaking of 
the bottle and the loss >of its contents accomplished 
what the medicine itself was designed to do. That 
was queer.” 

“But I will have to send for more, will I not?” 

“No, sir; not another drop. We have done with 
physic now, I think.” 

This announcement put new life into my every vein, 
nerve and muscle of my body. From that time for- 
ward it was a matter of nourishment. I helped to kill 
and undress half-naked broilers, haunted the woods 
in quest of young squirrels, and even made Abner a 


240 


Richard Gordon 


present of brand-new fishing tackle, that he might woo 
and win the choicest specimens of sun-perch, red-eye, 
and rock-bass. It is remarkable how quickly one’s 
spirits can leap from the pit of despair to the pinnacle 
of ecstacy. I went about whistling like a school-boy, 
with his pockets full of peanuts, licorice, and green ap- 
ples; although I did not feel as he does after he has 
stretched his canvass to accommodate this mixed au- 
dience. 

Yet with all this buoyancy, hope and happiness 
there was mingled a sense of sadness and of dread. I 
knew that I, or some one else, would have to tell Edith 
ihat her grandfather was dead. It grieved m<* to 
think of the effect this information must have upon 
her spirits ; and I would not permit any one to intimate 
the truth in her presence. She had asked about him 
more than once, and I told her at first that he was 
asleep, and upon the next inquiry, that he was not well. 
These, of course, were white lies; but I thought the 
occasion and the conditions justified them. For it 
would not have been prudent, then, to tell her the 
truth. 

Then came matters of business. Uncle Reuben had 
executed a will in which he had devised to Edith the 
home place of one hundred acres, including the mill. 
Col. Mayhue had been chosen as executor in this in- 
strument, and I felt that in his hands Edith’s inter- 
ests would be fully safe-guarded. After the will had 
been duly authenticated by probate I paid the inheri- 
tance tax, as required by law, in order that the title 
to the property might become at once vested in her as 
devisee. As a special mark of the respect which I en- 
tertained for the deceased, I requested the privilege of 
defraying the burial expenses; and I did this because 
I wanted some direct personal interest in Uncle Reu- 
ben dead, just as he had manifested a kindly interest 
in me up to the time of his death. 

Pursuant to the directions of the testament, all of 
the livestock and farming implements were sold at 


Richard Gordon 


241 


public outcry. These I bought, especially the stock 
and such of the implements as were serviceable and in 
good condition. In addition to these things I pur- 
chased many of the household effects, and all of the 
kitchen utensils that had not been bequeathed to other 
members of the family. I also bought all of those in- 
struments, implements and relics that the old man had 
prized so highly while he lived. 

By this time — the latter part of May — Edith was 
convalescent. She had not yet been out of the house, 
and I still retained Miss Murray, whose obliging serv- 
ices obviated any exertion on the part of our patient 
that might have retarded her recovery. I had soon 
discovered that this nurse was not a mere hired ma- 
chine, doing only such things as she thought fell with- 
in the scope of her duty. 

She evinced a pleasure in her work that was some- 
what exceptional in such cases, and for this reason 
Edith and I became strongly attached to her. She was 
not an old, case-hardened she-veteran, but a young, in- 
intelligent and prepossessing woman, and my plans as 
to her were self-laid accordingly. 

By exercising care she had •succeeded in removing 
every trace of the brutal treatment to which Edith 
had been subjected by the kidnapers, not even a scar 
remaining to remind one of that distressing affair. 
Moreover, as a consequence of her skill and discretion, 
Edith’s mind had become as clear, as strong and as 
active as of there had never been the least impairment 
of its faculties. Yet the physical powers of our pa- 
tient were somewhat slow in resuming their normal 
state, and hence we were especially concerned to 
avoid anything that might have a tendency to induce 
a relapse. 

But it had become necessary to tell Edith of the 
death of her grandfather, and at this intelligence she 
was much affected, as I knew she would be ; but by 
extending to her every mark of tenderness and proof 
of sympathy, we soon reconciled her to the loss. I 


242 


Richard Gordon 


had been forced to tell her the delayed truth bv the 
presence of a large crowd of people on the occasion 
of the public sale. These people were moving through 
the house and about the premises, inspecting the va- 
rious things that were to be sold, and she, of course, 
wanted to know what it all meant. And I told her. 

Just at this particular juncture I made myself busy 
about many things, one of which was matchmaking. 
I had talked to Abner as a spiritual and a temporal ad- 
viser, and as a result of my counsel he went to town 
with me, procured the requisite license, and was duly 
united to Mary Goss in the bonds of wedlock. While 
a number of workmen were engaged in building an 
addition to his mother's humble abode, I installed him 
as master mechanic and grain elevator at the mill. He 
was immensely pleased with this arrangement, pre- 
sumably, because the rays of the sun did not invade 
the building to an alarming extent ; and, besides, when 
not very busy he could stand in the room and fish out 
of the window. 

Mary's parents were induced to relinquish their 
claim upon her the more readily as Abner would be 
in charge of aflFairs at the mill, and it would, therefore, 
be an easier problem to keep a turn ahead in the meal- 
barrel. Abner would, no doubt, prove an indulgent 
son-in-law, and if they should chance to get a little 
more meal than their corn entitled them to, why, of 
course, he would make no fuss about it. 

Edith was now sufficiently recovered to go wherever 
she chose about the house and immediate premises; 
and just five weeks from the beginning of her illness, 
I called her aside and asked her a simple yet momen- 
tous question in a few words. To this interrogatory 
her answer was : 

“Whenever you like, Richard. I am willing and 
ready." 

I thereupon borrowed her horse for the last time, 
hooked him to the buggy, and drove over to town. My 
first business was with Col. Mayhue; the next step 


Richard Gordon 


243 


was to close a little contract with a carpenter. These 
matters arranged, I went over to the telephone office, 
and as I ascended the steps I heard that well-known 
voice, in somewhat melancholy tones, chanting : 

“If one with the world be disgusted, 

If to a self and to friends he's untrue ; 

He has only to say, I am leaving, 

And the world will bid him adieu.'* 

“Why, old fellow, what's the matter? Your song 
seems to be freighted with sadness. Have things gone 
wrong?" 

“Ay, sir; wrong, wronger, wrongest. I have played 
the old-fashioned fool — killed the hen that laid me an 
egg every day, and went hunting for one that would 
lay two. Yet I found to me sorrow that the best I 
could do was one that would lay ivery other day, or 
one that wanted to set." 

“Well, but I don't understand. Have you lost your 
grandmother ?" 

“I'll explain. I was doing very well, but I thought 
I could do better. So I struck the Sup. for higher 
wages, and the ugly baste told me I could ither kape 
my place at five less per month, or hunt anither job — 
he had a better man for the picking. 

“Then you are reduced to the alternative of surrend- 
ering your position, or of submitting to a cut in your 
wages." 

“Exactly, and that was the burden of me song." 

“Well, let's see if I can't set you a more lively tune. 
I have just closed a deal by which I become the owner 
of the local electric light and gas plant, and I want you 
to hold down the position of general manager at dou- 
ble your present wages. How does that strike you?" 

“Stroike me? Why, sir, it just knocks the whoile 
pulp out of me green Irish rind. Pat, won't ye, while 
I trot a Kilkenny jig. Sit down, plase, and write out 
me resignation as manager of this domned gab fac- 
tory." 


244 


Richard Gordon 


“I will, but there’s another thing, or rather, there 
are two other things I want you to do. Tomorrow at 
9 a.m. I shall be married to Edith, provided I can find 
somebody who is willing to vouch for my character, 
and thus induce the clerk to issue the necessary cre- 
dentials. I came to see if you would take that risk. 
And — wait a moment. Our marriage will be a very 
quiet affair, but I want you to act as best man with 
Miss Murray as bridesmaid.” 

"Mr. Gordon, I thought I had lost me hen; but ye 
have come and fetched the whoile poultry yard. Why, 
sir, it’s Golconda, Peru, and Klondike in one breath. 
Gineral manager of the Electric Light and Gas Com- 
pany, bondsman for your honored self, and the plais- 
ure of standing up with a handsome young lady at yer 
marriage. It’s enough to bloat me . knotty Irish pate, 
begorra! And just to think of the possibilities of yer 
financial schame. Why, sir, I can make the business 
all profit — light the town with the reflection of me 
countenance, and manufacture whoile regions of gas 
without the use of raw material.” 

"Well, Tony, no odds what may be your peculiar 
ities, your head is level and your heart beats true. Col. 
Mayhue will represent me in my absence, and you and 
he will have full control of the business. That much 
is settled. And now we will go over to the court 
house, if you please.” 

We went over, and for the moderate sum of two 
dollars I purchased the authority and sanction of law 
to become the husband of Edith McLean. 

Edith, however, was not yet of age, and as Mr. Gra- 
ham was in town, I persuaded him to become quali- 
fied and act as her guardian. This step was necessary, 
since her ownership of the homestead and mill would 
insure her some income, and I wanted this money 
saved for her own benefit; for it does not matter how 
much money a man may have, he should set this down 
as a fact — his wife will be better satisfied with him, 
with herself, and with things in general, if she have 


Richard Gordon 


245 


some source of income of her own. She does not en- 
joy the necessity of asking him for every dollar she 
wants. 

So, having obtained the ready consent of Col. May- 
hue, Mr. Graham, and Tony to be present at the ap- 
pointed hour on the morrow, and having also secured 
the services of a minister to perform the ceremony, I 
left for home, feeling that my present arrangements 
were about complete. 

It was not my wish nor was it Edith's desire that we 
should have more than a dozen witnesses and guests „ 
at our marriage. The family connection was quite 
extensive in that community, as I had already discov- 
ered, but I had also become apprised of the fact that 
many of these relatives regarded Edith with jealousy, 
if not positive dislike. This, I knew, was because of 
her grandfather's fondness for her, and of the discrimi- 
nation in her favor in his will. Hence, with the ex- 
ception of Rube, his wife, and two children, not a mem- 
ber of the family was expected. 

I entered into an agreement with Rube to the effect 
that he should take charge of Edith's property and 
pay to Mr. Graham, her guardian, one-half of the net 
proceeds of the place. To this arrangement he very 
readily assented, since he knew that in being permitted 
to use the stock and implements which I had bought 
he would be much better equipped for farming than 
if he had to depend upon his own resources. 

The greater part of that afternoon and evening was 
spent by Edith and the nurse in packing and other 
preparations for departure after the ceremony on the 
morrow. I had concluded to take Edith on an ex- 
tended tour, believing that travel, by short, easy stages 
would completely restore her to health ; and to render 
this trip more agreeable, I had engaged Miss Murray 
to accompany us in the capacity of companion for the 
former. The warm friendship which had sprung up 
between patient and nurse made this arrangement es- 
pecially pleasant, and wholly satisfactory to the latter, 


246 


Richard Gordon 


as she would lose nothing in the way of compensation. 

So the morrow came, and Col. Mayhue, Mr. Gra- 
ham, Tony and the preacher came. In a short while 
after the arrival of these guests the appointed hour 
came, and, with Tony and Miss Murray as attendants, 
Edith and I were pronounced man and wife. 

Our nuptials were marked by neither charivari , mo- 
resque, nor epithalamium — only, as I am willing to 
believe, by a sincere expression of hope that the union 
might make for congeniality and happiness. And this 
. hope, realize3, were worth it all. 

Just as we were preparing to start for town Tony 
led me aside and said : 

“Mr. Gordon, I am afraid ye have unwittingly sarved 
me an ill turn.” 

“In what way, Tony?” 

“Why, in taking Miss Murray away so soon after 
giving me the plaisure of mating her.” 

“Then suppose you tell her that,” I suggested. 

“Faith, and I have, sir.” 

“If you mean it I will become your advocate, keep 
you posted, and when she returns to Nashville you will 
know where to find her.” 

“Good ! I put me fate in your hands.” 

And he gave my paw a grip that almost crushed the 
bones. 

I had notified my relatives at Murfreesboro that they 
might expect us, and by taking the afternoon train at 
McMinnville, we reached the former town a short 
while before sunset. 

Edith was charmed with the handsome residences, 
smooth, well-shaded streets, and cool, green lawns, 
that seemed to extend a cordial welcome on every 
hand. Murfreesboro is an attractive place at any sea- 
son, but when seen for the first time in early June, 
its surpassing beauty is more than apt to make a last- 
ing impression. It is what might be termed a wide- 
awake town. Its citizens are, in the main, hospitable, 
'ourteous, and refined ; and, located as it is in an ex- 


Richard Gordon 247 

ceptionally fine agricultural section, its business in- 
terests are substantial and permanent. 

Several days were pleasantly spent at the home of 
my kinsfolk, and the long drives we took in the cool 
of the afternoons rapidly infused the bloom of health 
into Edith's face. On these occasions the little lisping 
Miss who had in her childish directness, once thrown 
Edith into such confusion, was an ever-present and 
much petted member of the party. She would sit on 
her new cousin's lap, counting the party-colored but- 
tons on Edith's dress and asking questions of every 
conceivable purport, and many that were not candidly 
answerable. Yet under the new conditions these in- 
terrogatories were not quite so embarrassing as they 
might once have been. 

The next point in our pilgrimage was Louisville, 
and the welcome accorded Edith by the best sister that 
any fellow ever had, was enough to make me believe 
I really was the luckiest man on earth. Ashamed of 
my green country wife ? Merrie would stand for min- 
utes at a time with her arms about Edith's neck, drink- 
ing in the fragrance of her fresh, bright soul, and gaz- 
ing into the limpid depths of her eyes, as if she were 
wondering how such a being could have escaped bod- 
ily translation. 

In the absence of wife or mother a good sister is 
the best friend with whom a man was ever blessed. 
She will tidy up his den, tie his cravats, sew on but- 
tons, darn his socks, and heroically rescue him from 
the condition of scare-crow or last year's bird-nest. 
If a man have not such a friend it would be economy 
to adopt one. 

From Louisville we went to St. Louis, that ever 
youthful bride of the Father of Waters. A great, a 
growing, a wonderful city, this; and into her spacious 
lap Nature's cornucopiae seem ever to be pouring 
their tributes of abundance. And notwithstanding 
the fact that some of her impertinent citizens were even 
then discussing the subject of her age and charging 


248 


Richard Gordon 


her with being older than she looked, her youthfulness 
was unseared and her serenity unruffled. Unlike most 
brides, the city seemed to defy the inroads of time and 
actually to enioy the prospect of reaching the century 
mark. 

Here we took the Central or Missouri Pacific, stop- 
ping at Kansas City, Denver, and Salt Lake City. Yes, 
at this Eden of many wives and more children. If any 
one should imagine that the race is in imminent danger 
of extinction, let him but view this Melrose by the pale 
moonlight, or by any other sort of light, and have the 
harrowing fantasy forever dispelled. The country 
that can boast the presence of men within whose 
strenuous loins has rested the life-principle of forty- 
odd moving, mortal entities, should, it would seem, 
be in a position to redeem the shortcomings of less fa- 
vored communities. I had thought until now that our 
own country was some pumpkins at the business of 
infant culture, but we are strictly and positively not 
in it. 

And that is not all. We imagine we are living in 
this country, and, after a fashion, we are ; but there is 
more life in twenty-four hours of the West than in 
half a century of our Southeastern Cathay. Things 
there move like cyclones, either to upbuild or to de- 
stroy. Enterprise in the East bears about the same 
relation to greatness that a Japanese patch sustains of 
a western ranch. Brain, skill, and capital form a com- 
bination that is hard to beat, and these the West has in 
abundance. 

San Francisco was our next objective point, and we 
devoted three weeks to this wondrous land of every 
soil and every clime. No marvel that things are gi- 
gantic there, when one may stand breathing the frag- 
rance of orange and citron, while the eye climbs to 
peaks that are capped with eternal snow. And it 
would seem that Nature, in the work of formation, 
had reserved the best for the last, and used choice mate- 
rial with lavish hand that no surplus might be wasted 


Richard Gordon 


249 


At San Francisco we took a steamer for Seattle, 
which latter place is another proof of the magical ef- 
fect of western enterprise. We landed at a time when 
the wheat season was at its height, and it seemed that 
the whole face of creation was sewed up in hempen 
sacks. Everything smelled, tasted, and looked like 
wheat, until our stomachs rebelled against all things 
made of flour, and I found myself hankering after a 
taste of old-fashioned Tennessee hoe-cake or corn muf- 
fin; although I would not have been fastidious about 
the style in which it was served, just so it was made 
of unadulterated horse corn. 

This place formed an angle in our extended jaunt. 
I had always felt a desire to see something of this 
boundless northwestern region; and the Great North- 
ern Railway, while affording excellent facilities for pas- 
senger traffic, at the same time might justly be termed 
the grain shoot of the western world. The amount of 
wheat that is handled over this road is simply bewild- 
ering, and just at this particular season, somewhat of 
a nuisance to tourists ; for sightseers must take the 
sidetrack for numberless train loads of grain. 

But as Tony would say, on schedule time, we made 
pop calls at Milwaukee, Chicago, Detroit, and Buffalo. 
From the last place, of course, had to run up to the 
falls. But you have been there, and I refrain. Thence 
due eastward we held our course to Albany, and, from 
there, steamed down the picturesque Hudson to New 
York City. Here, after a few days of comparative rest, 
the nurse companion left us, returning to Nashville. 

It had been a healthful, a pleasant and an educating 
trip; and, while we had by no means seen it all, we 
had yet seen enough to convince us, if additional proof 
had been needed, that our own is a big and a great 
country. 


250 


Richard Gordon 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Exactly two years have elapsed since our quiet, un- 
pretentious marriage — a stretch of time which has been 
filled -with kaleidoscopic scene and fraught with mani- 
fold incident. And yet these scenes and incidents were 
but an enlarged sequence of the wanderings in which 
we had indulged up to the conclusion of the preceding 
chapter. After bidding adieu to the nurse at New 
York, Edith and I took an ocean liner, and for the 
first time set foot on foreign soil at Liverpool. 

From this starting point our real wanderings com- 
menced ; for, with a steadfastness of purpose and a per- 
sistency of effort, ofttimes attended with difficulties, 
we visited the capital as well as the most important 
cities of every state and kingdom on the continent of 
Europe, with the exception of those pesky little Balkan 
states, which were then, as usual, in a riotous mood. 
And while I have never received any intimation either 
directly or indirectly, that these pseudo governments 
felt cut by our action, I am fully persuaded that they 
missed a lot of prestige by our avoidance. 

We took our time, consulted our conscience and 
pleasure, and at the end of twenty months had com- 
pletely girdled the globe. In this girdling process we 
may not have left a single permanent footprint on the 
sands of time ; we did not carve our names on the base 
of the Sphinx or the pyramids; nor did we essay to 
ford the Red Sea ; but by paying a reasonable fare we 
got across just the same. 

One thing that impressed me was the fact that we 
Americans are outdoing our English cousins in the 
matter of globe-trotting. No odds where we went, we 
were sure to encounter the clear-cut, shrewd profile 


Richard Gordon 


251 


of the Yankee “feller,” quietly smoking his Havana; 
or squirting juice from fine-cut tobacco. He is not 
following the flag, he is pushing ahead of the emblem 
in quest of an opening for trade. He makes this open- 
ing, and in a short while the flag follows him. 

Another matter that interested me, excited my cu- 
riosity and set me to speculating, was the astound- 
ing enterprise, skill, and scientific development of the 
slant-eyed dwellers of the Sunrise Kingdom. These 
little yellow people were working like a hive of bees at 
every conceivable sort of handicraft, and the products 
of their labor were represented by everything from a 
hairpin to a modern iron-clad. Their workshops and 
foundries were in operation both night and day, turn- 
ing out a perfect small-arm, as well as a terror-inspir- 
ing engine of destruction, that was larger and more 
menacing in appearance than anything I had ever seen 
of the Krupp pattern. I wondered what it all meant, 
and if they had adopted the maxim of our own patriot- 
sage, and were improving a period of peace as the best 
time to prepare for war. I thought, but I did not 
know. Of one thing, however, I felt sure; if we 
Americans could only induce these people and their 
cousins, the Chinese, to change their diet and take 
to corn bread, biscuit, and bacon we would soo^ be as 
rich as any two other nations on earth. 

Then westward ho ! And in three weeks we were 
anchored at the Golden Gate. The sensation of home- 
coming after nearly two years spent in foreign climes 
is an indescribably pleasant one. It does not matter 
whether a fellow has a single plank, board, or brick 
that he may call his own, the mere fact that he is again 
among familiar scenes and hears the well-known ac- 
cents of his native land is the source of a joy that 
nothing else can produce. 

We disembarked, and, after a few days spent in re- 
cuperating, started East over the Southern Pacific road. 
And in one week thereafter we were literally and posi- 
tively at home. There was no illusion about it, for 


252 


Richard Gordon 


there were Rube, Aunt Molly, Zeb and Nan; and 
there, too, were old Calico and the other dogs. And 
upon going out to the pasture we found Orville, among 
other horses, as fat and as sleek as a mole, but by no 
means as blind; for, as soon as he saw and recognized 
us, he came galloping up to his mistress. 

During our absence there had not been another 
flood. The mill was there, and Abner was holding 
it down. At times grist might be scarce, but suckers 
and sun-perch were ever plentiful, and Abner's life 
unfolded like a dream of Paradise. 

Meanwhile Rube had erected a modest habitation 
upon a tract of land that he had bought in the neigh- 
borhood, and was ready to relinquish the charge of af- 
fairs to me. Whether I shall develop into a creditable 
farmer or not remains to be proved; but I have about 
concluded to launch into the business of stock-raising 
under a strict observance of the signs of the zodiac. 

And Tony? Well, he had improved his opportu- 
nities, sought out and married Miss Murray, after her 
return to Nashville, and was now the proud possessor 
of a little home, a wife, and a half-Irish boy ; and, un- 
less all signs should fail, this latter animated chattel 
will soon have his mother's heart for a football and 
his daddy's head for a drum. 

Jjl jjcjfc 

It is the middle of June. The earth, the air, every- 
thing, is freighted with the perfume of wild flower, 
of domestic plant and shrub ; while the sounds that 
greet one's ears are the cackle of the business hen, the 
gobble of the turkey, the quack of the duck, the 
squawk of the goose, and the pot-rack of the guinea. 
But above and beyond all these in music and soulful 
symphony is the enrapturing melody of an infantile 
duet. 

Edith sits at the open window, plying her needle 
upon some little white garments, the length of which 


Richard Gordon 


253 


seems to be entirely out of proportion to their general 
dimensions, while I have just put the finishing touches 
to the plans and specifications for an automatic com- 
partment cradle. 

TWINS!! Two footprints at one step! 

And the nights they are filled with music, 

And the cares that infest the day 

Have removed their wraps and bonnets, 

And made up their minds to stay. 


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“ LIBRARY BINDING 


’ JUM 82 ., °* * 


ST. AUGUSTINE 









